


A woman's weapon

by Maroucia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, book canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maroucia/pseuds/Maroucia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperate to flee King's Landing and Joffrey's building cruelty, Sansa finds she has no choice left but to use the sole asset she has in order to get the help she needs.<br/>Beta-ed by the great Wildsky Sheri.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello girls!
> 
> Here’s the first chapter of a brand new fic I started. I think I should warn you that anyone who doesn’t like dubcon should skip this one. 
> 
> This fic takes place in some imprecise moment of the story so don’t be surprised if the timeline seems a little confused. Sansa is aged up for obvious reasons but I’m not going to give her a precise age either. 
> 
> I hope you’ll enjoy! I can’t wait to hear what you all think of this one!
> 
> (Oh and by the way, this fic should be about 5 or 6 chapters long)

**Sansa**

 

 

The long corridor before her was dark, so dark that Sansa couldn’t discern any of what lay more than a few yards ahead of her. All along the old stony walls hung scattered lanterns that glowed dimly but their halos were more blinding than anything else. Careful with each of her steps, Sansa anxiously advanced in the gloom, her hands sweaty and shivering as they held her cloak tightly around her. By finding herself in these parts of the Red Keep at such a late hour, the young girl was well aware that she would almost certainly stumble into the Hound and the prospect of seeing his terrible face take form in the darkness and feeling his steely grip on her wrist was bloodcurdling to her. Anytime she met him by herself, she always felt so exposed and vulnerable, as if he could read through her very soul and gain control over her whole being. _And yet here I am, walking in these areas with the sole purpose of putting myself in his way…_

 

Her whole body shivering with a mix of cold and nervousness, Sansa kept going through the water-seeping rock alley. Each of her steps followed the last in a succession of automatic movements that made her feel almost as if she wasn’t truly marching through the long passage but really dreaming the whole thing. _Or perhaps it is a nightmare,_ Sansa mused, knowing very well it was not. Although her existence had indeed been turned into one over the last year, she had stopped hoping she’d awaken in her bedroom at Winterfell several moon turns ago. The realisation that she would need to find her way out of the trial she was in _by herself_ had recently struck her, and hence here she was, a young maiden lost in the night with a very specific goal in mind.

 

After days of intense reflection and hesitation, she had finally made up her mind moments earlier and resolved to act on the crazy idea that had sprouted in her head almost a sennight ago. Fearful that her courage would abandon her if she waited so much as an additional minute, Sansa had immediately hurried out of her room and headed for the less recommendable parts of the Red Keep. Even now as she explored the unknown corridors, her resolution was still wavering but a stubborn part of her kept her going anyhow. After all, however weak and helpless she often felt, deep down Sansa was a wolf that yearned to survive more than anything else.

 

The girl gained a new burst of courage at the thought and she was just starting to feel slightly better when her reflections were abruptly interrupted by the echo of faraway footsteps. _Is it him?_ she wondered, petrified and gaping in the darkness.

 

“What’s the little bird doing here in the middle of the night?” the rough steel-on-rock voice of the Hound resounded from the other side of the long corridor, confirming her suspicions.

 

In the blink of an eye, the faint confidence Sansa had barely managed to gather vanished into thin air. She had to wonder at that instant if she wouldn’t have preferred to run into someone else instead and see her scheme crumble before her than having to proceed with the mission she had given herself. _There’s no turning back now,_ she realised, breathing in deeply. Trembling, she watched, wide-eyed, as Sandor Clegane’s towering shape took form in the gloom before her.

 

The strong scent of wine that so often enveloped him quickly reached Sansa’s nostrils. _He must be off-duty,_ she surmised. While the man was a well-known drunkard, he was always sober during his shifts. He wasn’t wearing his armour either - although he still had his white Kingsguard cloak draped over his shoulders - but was garbed in plain wool breeches and a roughspun tunic instead. Sansa couldn’t have prayed for more ideal circumstances; well into his cups and dressed as simply as he was, Sandor Clegane was undoubtedly free of any assignments until dawn. It was almost as if the planets had aligned on Sansa’s behalf tonight… the only detail that lacked for everything to be truly perfect was some much needed assurance on her part.

 

“Shouldn’t you be in your room sleeping?” the Hound asked in a mocking tone while seizing her by the upper arm. “What would the king think if he knew his _betrothed_ was out in the dark of night _by herself_?” As usual, the man’s face was twisted in a mean scowl but the queer spark that gleamed in his eyes told Sansa that he was amused at finding her here.

 

“I was… I was lost,” Sansa lied. She didn’t want to reveal herself so soon. This was not the place.

 

Snorting, the Hound stared down at her for an instant but Sansa didn’t dare meet his gaze for fear she would lose her nerve. “Still don’t know your way around the keep, do you? What a helpless little bird you are. You’re lucky I found you.” With that, the man let go of her arm and put a heavy hand on the back of her shoulder. “Go on, girl. I’ll bring you back to that chamber of yours,” he rasped, pushing her forward.

 

Without a word, Sansa obeyed and let Sandor Clegane guide her though the maze of corridors, her eyes politely lowered even though the man was behind her. Her cheeks were burning with shame at the thought of what she intended to do and her heart was beating so loudly that she wasn’t even certain she would hear anything if the Hound addressed her. Could she _really_ go through with her plan? It seemed impossible that she found it in her to be so bold. _I have to! Or else, I’ll_ die _here in King’s Landing. Joffrey will kill me sooner or later and this is perhaps the last chance I’ll ever get to flee._

 

About a sennight ago, Sansa had heard about a great Braavosi ship which had recently anchored at the capital’s harbour. Such vessels were certainly common in King’s Landing but what differentiated this one from all the others was that its captain had been given permission to dock even though its next destination was WhiteHarbour. Of course as foreigners, the Braavosi weren’t expected to stop trading with the Northerners but the fact that the ship would go directly from one side of the divided realm to the other was uncommon enough that Sansa had heard about it.

 

From the moment she had heard of the unusual visitor, Sansa had daydreamed of watching the capital disappear from the horizon, comfortably installed on the vessel’s deck. If only she could find a way to creep out of the castle, everything would go smoothly afterward, she had thought to herself when she first heard about the ship. While she had far fewer jewels than most ladies at court, the necklaces and earrings she possessed would surely suffice to pay for a cabin and once she’d arrived at WhiteHarbour, House Manderly would undoubtedly loan her the sum she needed to travel to Winterfell.

 

It was useless fantasizing about such a flight though. There was no way Sansa could ever secure a place for herself on the craft and most of all, escape from the Red Keep at all.

 

If she wished to board the ship, she’d need help, for it was impossible for her to achieve it on her own. Sadly, not a soul cared about her fate in the capital. She was a mere traitor’s daughter, despised by most and ignored by all. The sole person that had given her a little of his attention since her father’s death was the Hound but although he had often been gentle to her in his own harsh way, the man was still Joffrey’s sworn shield. She couldn’t possibly ask him to help her escape, Sansa had soon concluded. Sandor Clegane was no selfless knight looking to rescue defenceless maidens at his own risk. He wouldn’t waste his energy on such a venture if there was naught he might gain from it and Sansa had nothing to offer in exchange that might interest him anyhow… unless…

 

A recent conversation Sansa had had with the queen had suddenly come to her mind one afternoon while she was despondently lying on her featherbed and turning the whole situation over for the hundredth time in her mind.

 

“Tears are not a woman’s only weapon, Sansa,” the woman had told her on a night she was enjoying lecturing her as she so often did when she was in her cups. “A woman can also use what she has between her legs to get what she wants.”

 

Such crude words coming from a lady’s mouth had shocked Sansa. The very thought that a woman might use something as precious as her virtue as a tool to get what she wanted had scandalised her at the time but now… was she not about to heed the queen’s advice?

 

It had taken Sansa _days_ to begin allowing herself to consider the idea properly. When the notion had first crossed her mind, the girl had been completely appalled that she could even ponder something so vile and she had immediately discounted it as utterly insane. Staying intact was crucial for a maiden of high lineage. Her purity was a treasure she should protect and cherish!

 

Over time though, some very reasonable objections had hit Sansa, one of which had ended up bringing her to change her mind on the matter completely. If she stayed in King’s Landing, Joffrey would continue his beatings and as his cruelty kept escalating with each occurrence, the chances that Sansa would survive longer than a few years were obviously quite low. Of what use would her maidenhead be if she lay dead on the throne room’s floor? Before her chastity, Sansa had better protect her life for the former had no meaning to a cadaver.

 

Once the first step of accepting that she might need to sacrifice her maidenhood in order to escape had been taken, Sansa had been confronted with an equally, or perhaps even more frightening prospect… Lying with the Hound.

 

There was indeed no other man in her surroundings she had any hope of swaying to help her and even with the Hound, she wasn’t entirely certain it might work. Sure, she had noticed how he looked at her and was almost sure he had some sort of interest in her. Also, he had commented on her growing body once and saved her from the bread riots without being ordered by anyone but still, there was a risk he might laugh in her face at hearing her proposal. However, it wasn’t as if Sansa had many other options and thereby, she had kept trying to convince herself she had to do it over the last couple of days.

 

The prospect of undressing herself in front of Sandor Clegane, of letting him caress her young body with hands more accustomed of killing than caring for a maiden was also quite terrifying. What if he hurt her? _No, he wouldn’t_ , she kept repeating to herself as she walked, feeling the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. _The Hound has always been gentle toward me._ Still, whenever Sansa envisioned how his cruel, burned lips would feel against hers and how his scarred cheek would brush against her skin, a shiver of disgust would go down her spine and she would bite her lip in fearful anticipation. _He may be hideous, but if Sandor Clegane can help me get to this ship, I won’t stop him from doing whatever he wishes to me. I’ll be forever grateful towards him and work very hard not to show him my aversion._

“Almost there, little bird,” the man announced as they began going up the Serpentine stairs. “Next time you go on one of your _nightly visits_ to that buggering godswood you love so much, make certain to follow your usual path. The area you were in is certainly not fitting for a bloody _lady._ ”

 

“I thank you, my lord,” Sansa muttered, biting her lips. It was slightly ironic that Sandor Clegane would refer to her as a lady when the proposition she was preparing to utter was anything but ladylike.

 

“Still chirping your empty little words, are you?”

 

“No, I… I owe you quite a lot, my lord,” Sansa answered. Trying to appear more at ease then she truly was, she turned around to look him straight in the eyes and curled her lips in a small, tense smile. If she really wished to lay with the Hound, she had better start gazing at him and giving him more than a little girl’s scared glances. “I’m sincerely thankful.”

 

Her attitude seemingly startling him, Sandor Clegane halted and tightened the hold he had on her shoulder. From where he was a couple of steps down from Sansa, they were almost of a height and his frowning face approached hers.

 

“What game are you playing now, little bird?” he hissed, looking irritated and bemused at once.

 

 “It’s not a game!” she cried, both panic-stricken and abashed at how badly her words had been received. “It’s the truth I’m telling you, my lord. I… I know you don’t have to help me but you always do anyway.”

 

At hearing her reply, the man’s eyes widened but then he began staring at her with so much contempt that Sansa barely contained tears from welling in her eyes. His fingers were painfully digging into her shoulder and she was just about to try to shrug him away when he shook his head and pushed her forward.

 

“You’re really a stupid bird, are you? Wasting your pretty little words on me like this,” Sandor Clegane hissed as they resumed their ascent.

 

 _I’ll never be able to go through with this,_ Sansa repeated to herself once more. She couldn’t let it go so easily though. Perhaps a more straightforward approach would work better with the Hound. He was certainly not the kind of man who liked to be flattered after all.

 

“Here you are, little bird. And no fucking show of gratitude needed here,” the man spat when they reached her door.

 

He was just about to leave and head towards the stairs when Sansa caught him by the sleeve. “Wait! I… I need to talk to you about… _about_ _something._ My lord, please. I have a proposition.”

 

The man’s previous bemused expression returned to his terrible face but the hint of a mocking smile curled the corner of his lips this time. “What could a little bird like you have to propose? Doesn’t seem to me that your life is full of occasions to haggle over anything.”

 

His response making her even more anxious, Sansa breathed in a few times while she tried vainly to find the perfect way to answer him.

 

“Go on. I haven’t got all night,” the Hound ordered when she didn’t reply, before taking a gulp from his wineskin.

 

Breathing in deeply, Sansa decided the time to reveal herself had come. “I… I would like you to… to help me get on the _Travelling Titan_. I can pay for my passage only, I’ll never be able to get to the vessel by myself.”

 

On hearing her demand, the Hound nearly choked on his wine. “Let me get this straight, girl. You’re asking your betrothed’s own buggering sworn shield to help you flee from his master’s _loving embrace_?” His eyes narrowing in mirth, the man barked a hoarse and low laugh. “You got more nerve than I believed.” A mean grin on his lips, he eyed Sansa with curiosity. “And why would I do something like this, tell me?”

 

“I would… repay you. I don’t have any gold and only a few jewels but I could…” Sansa paused, not certain if she had it in her to finish her sentence.

 

The Hound was staring at her with a fixed smirk and an incredulous expression in his usually unreadable eyes - as if he had already divined her intention and couldn’t believe what he had read in her.

 

“Tonight I would give you… anything you want… from me,” she whispered, each of her words smaller and weaker than the previous one.

 

At that, Sandor Clegane’s eyes grew wide and Sansa began wondering if she had not put herself in more trouble than she ever had in her short existence.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> For a number of reasons, the second chapter is already done. Don’t get used to this pace though; it won’t last.

**Sansa**

 

For a long and awkward moment, both Sansa and the Hound stayed silent and still. The only sound that could be heard in the gloom of the corridor was the dripping of moisture as it slowly seeped through the stone wall and ceiling and landed on the floor. Her whole body trembling in horror at what she had just done, Sansa kept her eyes lowered to the ground, too anxious to glance at Sandor Clegane.

 

“What _exactly_ did you just offer me, girl?” the man suddenly asked, his voice betraying no emotion at all. “Did I really hear you right?”

 

Sansa was at a loss as to what she might answer. There was no point in denying her intentions as the Hound had clearly understood her meaning and was sure to read any lie she attempted to make him believe. Besides, she couldn’t abandon her hopes, no matter how thin, of swaying him to help her flee King’s Landing just yet and thereby, recanting her proposition was simply out of question. Still, the situation was so humiliating and nerve-racking that Sansa couldn’t help but stare at the ground and stay as quiet as a frightened child.

 

Obviously displeased by her muteness, Sandor Clegane seized her jaw with tight fingers and lifted her face. “Look at me,” he ordered flatly.

 

Slowly, Sansa raised her gaze and did as he bade her. Surprisingly, he didn’t appear half as mad as she expected but still, everything about his stance was mocking and spiteful. As always, he had his ways of intimidating her without doing much and she barely managed not to avert her eyes.

 

“Did you _truly_ just offer yourself to me, same as any _bloody_ _whore_ would?” the Hound asked sharply once he was certain he had her utmost attention.

 

The question was so harsh that Sansa felt her whole body turn red and burn from the moment she heard it. “It’s not the same,” she retorted meekly while lowering her gaze. “I don’t want any gold from you,” she whispered after a few seconds of silence in the same childlike voice. Then unexpectedly, some meagre courage overtook her and gave her the force she needed to meet his stare again. “What I want to gain from this exchange is _my life_ ,” she added in a tone that sounded almost calm to her ears.

 

For a short instant, the Hound seemed taken aback by her response but his usual wry expression quickly reappeared on his ravaged face. “Perhaps. Still, why would I be interested in taking a woman that won’t even look at me while I bed her?”

 

Breathing in deeply, Sansa raised her chin as high as possible in Sandor Clegane’s steely grip. “I _am_ looking at you now,” she stated as convincingly as she could while fighting the impulse to turn her head around as she normally would have.

 

For the next minute or so, Sandor Clegane intently stared at her, right in the eyes, waiting and expecting her gaze to dart away from him. Obstinately, Sansa kept her own eyes locked on his, adamant in proving to him that he was mistaken - even though she knew in truth he wasn’t.

 

In the end though, she thankfully _did_ fool him.

 

“Seems like you’ve grown bold enough to look at me after all,” he rasped lowly after a long moment. Although his tone was flat, Sansa read some surprise in it.

 

Removing his hand from her jaw, he tilted his head, studying her with narrowed eyes. “What exactly did you expect from this _proposition_ of yours again?” he asked, while letting his stare travel over her face in such an odd way that Sansa had to fight a shiver. “Your maidenhead against my help bringing you to that bloody ship? You think your cunt’s worth all that trouble to me?”

 

While his words were harsh, Sansa sensed he was more interested in the trade than he was willing to make it appear and the awareness emboldened her. “These would be the terms,” she murmured with a nod. “It wouldn’t be much risk to you though. You’d only need to secure a place for myself on the ship and help me escape from the castle once the time comes,” she continued, speaking in total ignorance while hoping her words weren’t too far from the truth.

 

“And how could you be certain that I wouldn’t take you and forgo my part of the deal once I’m done with you?” the Hound sneered after having drunk a long gulp of wine. “You’d have no one to complain to afterwards if I were not _honest_.”

 

“You’re right, of course… but I trust you. I know you’re no liar,” Sansa whispered softly. “Am I right?” she asked, praying the gods that she was not mistaken, while timidly glancing at him.

 

Glaring down at her, Sandor Clegane waited a few long seconds but then he snorted and looked away. “Aye, you are,” he grunted almost reluctantly. “I’ll keep my word… if I agree, that is.”

 

Trembling equally from fear that he would refuse and fright that he would accept, Sansa kept her unassured gaze on him. “And… do you?” she demanded hesitantly.

 

Clenching his jaw, the Hound began turning around as if he was considering leaving but then, he cocked his head and smirked tightly, all the while never meeting Sansa’s gaze. “Perhaps you’re not as blind and clueless as you make it appear. After all, you chose your target pretty damned well,” he rasped lowly before facing her once more. Grinning in an almost menacing way, Sandor Clegane laughed dryly and looked at her with eyes dark and gleaming. “I _do_ want you. Let me in your bed tonight and you can count on me with your escape.”

 

For an instant, Sansa was too dumbstruck to react. Had her stratagem _truly_ worked? The Hound would help her flee? It was too good to be true. She almost grinned at that instant, but then she remembered what his agreement involved. _I’ll be giving myself to him in moments!_ she realised with sudden dread. Simultaneously, the man’s admission sank in and Sansa’s heart began pounding fiercely as she grasped the meaning of his words. Sandor Clegane _was_ _indeed_ trulyattracted to her. Although she had already suspected it and even counted on that supposition, to hear it so openly from his own lips was utterly unsettling.

 

When the Hound noticed how tense she had grown, he snorted with something like irritation and glowered down at her. “Regretting this already?” he growled, the burned corner of his mouth twitching slightly.  

 

Sansa was as scared and nervous as a bird caught in a cat’s mouth, however there was not a chance in all of Westeros that she’d let this opportunity fly away so easily. Swiftly, she took the last step that separated her from Sandor Clegane and laid a hand over his upper arm. “No!” she cried, staring at him with imploring eyes. “Please follow me, my lord,” she said in a broken but determined voice before turning around and heading to her door.

 

An eye blink later, Sansa had stepped inside and the man was locking the door behind him. _That’s it! The Hound is going to take my maiden’s gift!_ she thought as a new surge of panic overwhelmed her. There was no complaining though; that was exactly what she had asked for after all. Besides, thanks to the sacrifice she was about to make, her feet would touch northern ground in less than a moon’s turn and that was all that truly mattered in the end. With that in mind, Sansa steadied her breathing and tried to calm herself. It wouldn’t do for Sandor Clegane to notice how totally petrified she was if she didn’t wish for him to abruptly change his mind. He wanted her to look at him; he had told her so only minutes earlier and Sansa would give him what he desired as best she could. Gathering her courage, the girl went straight to her bed in a trance-like state and sat on its edge. The sooner they were done with it, the better it would be, she tried to convince herself.

 

Looking unexpectedly uneasy, Sandor Clegane was sweeping his gaze around the chamber when Sansa looked at him again. After what appeared to her as a very long moment, he sighed, settled his now empty wineskin on the table and began unbuckling his sword belt, all the while not even sparing a single glance in her direction. Once he was done, he settled his weapon in the corner of the room and sat on a chair not far from her. Sansa was watching him out of the corner of her eye, her back straight and stiff and her sweaty hands demurely set over her lap in an attempt to keep them from trembling.

 

“I said I agreed to your terms,” the Hound rasped as he started undoing the laces of his boots, his eyes still averted from her. “But I also want you to promise me something first.”

 

Unwilling to refuse him anything at this point, Sansa compliantly nodded as soon as she heard his words.

 

“This is the last time you’ll ever offer yourself like this. Once is fine, but you won’t get used to it. _Say it_ ,” he demanded roughly, almost snarling the last words.

 

Slightly disconcerted, Sansa gulped but nonetheless immediately agreed to his terms. “I promise. This is the last time I’ll ever do such a thing.”

 

“Good,” the man growled as he kicked his boots off. “I don’t want you becoming like one of those buggering _luxury whores_ that crowds the Red Keep,” he said, raising his stare. Eyes narrowed at her, the Hound stood and took a step toward the bed. “For all that, I’d be a fool to refuse your offer. Especially now that I know I’ll be the last man to whom you’ll ever propose anything similar,” he added with a smirk.

 

Biting at her bottom lip, Sansa kept wide eyes fixed on him for some time, feeling the speed of her pulse increase with every passing second. It took her a long moment to realise that Sandor Clegane was probably expecting her to do something. The problem was Sansa had no clue what that might be. _Perhaps… I should undress_ , she mused, totally abashed at the prospect. Still, her hands rose to her collar of their own accord and unclasped the brooch of her cloak before letting the large piece of cloth fall over the bed.

 

The Hound gave her a wry half-smile at that. “That’s a start,” he rasped sardonically.

 

A small fire was burning in the hearth and its orange glow was reflecting over the man’s burned face, making his scars appear even more gruesome than they actually were – if that was possible. Fighting against her every instinct, Sansa forced herself to look at him and behold the fearsome sight he made with his cruel, gaunt features, long black hair and gloomy demeanour. He was a maiden’s nightmare, a giant closer in appearance to an ogre than to the handsome knights Sansa fancied and beyond that, he was so tall and broad that he would surely crush her under his weight while they… they… _Oh gods, what did I get myself into?!_

“Calm down, little bird,” the Hound’s rough voice interrupted her troubled thoughts.

 

 _I have to gain control over myself,_ the girl tried to reason, shaking herself. Was the man annoyed with her for her agitation?

 

“I’ve never had a maiden before,” Sandor Clegane told her nonchalantly while taking the last step that separated him from the bed. “Nevertheless, only a deaf man has never heard of how _sensitive_ you females can be at first. You need not worry; I’ll be careful with you as much as I can.”

 

Sansa wasn’t certain if his words were supposed to reassure her but at least naught in his attitude indicated her obvious trepidation bothered him in any way. The awareness eased the frantic beating of her heart to a somewhat more regular rhythm but the respite only lasted a few breaths for Sandor Clegane shortly kneeled his imposing body before her. The enormity of him was perhaps even more impressive crouched on the floor than it had been a mere instant before while he stood at his full height and Sansa felt uncomfortably small and fragile next to him. _What is he doing?_ she wondered anxiously while instinctively turning her head around and shutting her eyes. Just as she was doing so, the girl felt the Hound’s large hand settle over her cheek. Against her will, she flinched at the contact - exactly as she had promised herself she wouldn’t do.

 

Burying his other hand in her hair, Sandor Clegane began softly caressing her face. “Shhh,” he whispered hoarsely. “Calm those bird nerves of yours, there’s nothing healthy in being so tense.”

 

The feel of the Hound’s fingers stroking over her face was rough, as could be expected from the hands of such a man, but his touch was also unexpectedly gentle. Slowly, he let his thumb and forefinger trace the line of her jaw and the shape of her cheekbone and Sansa began to relax – if only slightly – but still, she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. Yet even in the darkness she voluntarily kept herself in, she could sense how hungrily the man was staring at her and she was beginning to doubt she’d ever find the courage to contemplate his lust in truth.

 

Steadily, the Hound’s warm breath brushed against the side of her face, however its heat couldn’t stop Sansa from shivering at the proximity they were in. “Could you truly be cold with that fire burning in the hearth… or are you trembling from _fright_?” Sandor Clegane asked in a dry but queerly not ungentle tone. Softly, he lowered his hand over Sansa’s neck and caressed it lightly with his knuckles. “Tell me, little bird. What scares you most? Losing your maidenhead or lying with me?”

 

For an instant, Sansa couldn’t find her voice. What was she supposed to reply to such a question? There was no point in lying to the Hound! He had probably already guessed the answer for all she knew anyhow. She would need to find a way to tell the truth while not saying it in such a fashion that she risked displeasing him.

 

“Both daunt me equally,” Sansa breathed after a few seconds of awkward silence. “I’m a maiden after all… and you… are an intimidating man.”

 

At that, the Hound chuckled as softly as his gruff voice allowed. “Fair enough. I’ve heard it said often enough not to blame you for it.”

 

Circling his hand over her throat, his face approached Sansa’s neck and he settled his mouth on its side, his lips warm and wet against her smooth skin. At the contact, the girl instantly gasped in surprise, eyes popping open when she felt the man’s tongue lazily trail over the softness that lay there. In a heartbeat, the queerest sensation Sansa had ever known rose from the center of her being and spread all over the rest of her body with the same intensity and speed of a flash of lighting cutting through the sky.

 

Confused by her own reaction, Sansa inhaled deeply, hopeful that the action might allow her to tame her rebellious core, but then the Hound bit at the tender skin and the same strange sensation once more flowed over her. This time, Sansa couldn’t hold back a soft moan from escaping her lips. _What is happening to me?_ she wondered in a mix of confusion, fear and… something else – _mysterious and strange_ \- that she couldn’t quite figure out.

 

 

 

**_Author’s note: I know I’m a bad person for writing this story but I’m not sorry._ **


	3. Chapter 3

Oh my! This one is _finally_ done! I hope I won’t disappoint. Don’t forget to tell me what you think! :)

**Sansa**

 

 

 

At the sound of her moan, the Hound backed slightly away from Sansa and glanced at her for a short instant, a spark of disbelief shining in his dark eyes. _Did I do something wrong?_ the girl wondered, heart pounding and lips slowly opening in a small O. The scale of her ignorance where _these_ _things_ were concerned was rapidly starting to hit her in all its overwhelming enormity. True, she did have a general idea of what a husband did to his wife once the candles were blown out at night but still, Sansa had neither been taught the details of the act nor how one was supposed to behave before, during and after the deed. Now that the terms of her trade with the Hound had been agreed upon and the time had arrived for her to do her part, Sansa was swiftly realising with building dismay that she had no true notion of what she had offered. The thought was nerve-wracking to say the least. Dread at how the towering man kneeling before her would use her young and inexperienced body to gain his pleasure was quickly overpowering her. Still, what was truly scaring Sansa at that moment was that she may have unknowingly done anything that might displease Sandor Clegane before their agreement could be sealed and thereby, that their agreement would be suddenly cancelled. While she couldn’t let that happen, Sansa was at a total loss as to how she was supposedto divine and then _prevent_ something of which she was completely clueless.

 

Thankfully though for now, the Hound’s expression was not one of annoyance; far from it even. It was subtle, yet Sansa could see how the unburned corner of his lips had curled, very slightly. The look in his eyes was unmistakable - even for a maiden as innocent as she. He wanted her and wouldn’t wait very long before he took what had been promised…

 

 _Good_ , Sansa tried to convince herself as she stiffly shifted her position. She knew she ought to be happy that the Hound hadn’t been put off by any of her maidenly reactions so far but her mind wasn’t on the same page as her shivering body. Extensively agitated, Sansa was quickly losing control over herself again, feeling her blood pulse through her veins with building pressure and beads of sweat form over the fair skin of her brow.

 

Her breathing was coming unevenly by now, causing her breasts to heave up and down with increasing evidence and the movement shortly attracted Sandor Clegane’s attention. Brazenly, he let his stare fall over the soft swell that peaked at the top of Sansa’s modest cleavage and his eyes instantly darkened. While the awareness that he was so bluntly staring at her body made her uneasy, the same strange throbbing she had experienced seconds earlier once more took root in the depths of her loins.

 

Dazed, Sansa shut her eyes in an attempt to overcome the chaos in her but the man chose that moment to lay his large hands over the top of her breasts. The gesture – albeit to be expected – was anything but that for the maiden. Fighting the impulse to push him away, Sansa tensed but stayed still. Without a word, the Hound began untying the fine laces that kept her light dress closed and fear quickly chased away any furtive trace of budding pleasure the girl had briefly started to experience. Gulping, she tossed her head back and compliantly let him do what he needed.

 

“What kind of knot has your damned handmaiden invented here, little bird?” Sandor Clegane grumbled impatiently after having mumbled a couple of unintelligible oaths.

 

At that, Sansa let out a short, nervous laugh but that wasn’t enough to loosen the knot that – in an absurdly similar state to her bodice – was now painfully twisting her stomach. The force and speed of her heartbeat had reached such an impressive level that she was _certain_ the Hound could feel it hammering through his fingers as he fought to undo her gown. If he did though, the man refrained from commenting and for that, Sansa was thankful as getting teased on her evident anxiety was the last thing she needed if she hoped to relax at all.

 

For all his cursing, the Hound inevitably prevailed over the laces and the fresh air of the room soon enveloped Sansa’s curves. Goosebumps immediately covered her skin and the girl bit at her bottom lip at the sharp sensation, fighting to steady her breathing. Somehow, she managed to neither quiver too much nor attempt to cover her nudity, as every fibre of her being ordered her to. She couldn’t refuse Sandor Clegane anything after all, she reminded herself. _Is he going to lift my skirts and take me now?_ she wondered in fearful anticipation.

 

She waited then, trembling and ready for anything and yet, for a long moment afterward, naught happened. The only sounds that could be heard in the darkness of the room were those of the crackling fire in the hearth and for Sansa, her pulse pounding in her ears. The silence was beyond oppressive to her and worry that the shape of her body wasn’t to the Hound’s taste was hastily sprouting in her mind. What if, unknown to her and kept secret by her lady mother and handmaidens, she wasn’t formed correctly and the view of her bare body disgusted the man? Swiftly, the idea began shrouding the very thin self-confidence she had had to begin with when she voiced her proposition to Sandor Clegane but then, just as she was about to truly doubt her normality, thick fingers pushed aside the layers of lace that still stood in their way and settled over the tips of her nipples, softly pinching them and playing with their hardness.

 

The sensation of the tender pressure exerted by those robust hands was unlike anything Sansa had ever experienced previously and she barely managed not to let out a whimper at the feeling. Unsettled, she inhaled deeply but couldn’t conceal the sound of the violent breath she let out when the Hound shaped the entire roundness of her breasts with his large palms.

 

Grunting in satisfaction - either at her reaction or at the softness of her skin, Sansa couldn’t tell - Sandor Clegane began kneading her breasts more firmly and the girl had to bite hard at her lip to stay silent.

 

The Hound’s warm breath was caressing the top of Sansa’s curves, telling her that both his stare and attention were completely absorbed by her body and giving her the courage she needed to discreetly glimpse down at him. There was no denying it: while she blushed at the notion, her curiosity was also quickly winning and compelling her to have a look. Carefully, she opened her eyes slightly and just as she did, Sandor Clegane lowered his head over her breasts and - with a hand that seemed almost brown in contrast with the paleness of her skin – guided one of her hardened nipples into his burned mouth.

 

The sight of this ravaged man, with a face covered with _terrible_ _dark scars_ , devouring the pure whiteness of her young curves was as much incongruous as it was shocking and sent chills all over Sansa’s body from the moment she beheld it. In a flash, she realised how similarly a black wolf eats a ewe, how fiends abuse the ethereal creatures they capture in the stories she had been told in her childhood… So alike was the contrast between her and the Hound.

 

As he sucked at her pink nipples, she could hear him panting in the same manner a man might when worn out by some sort of physical prowess. The notion was puzzling as Sandor Clegane was clearly in shape to face far harder challenges than those offered by a lithe girl. Still, he kept ardently switching from one nipple to the other and nuzzling at her curves with the same queer and mysterious weariness.

 

The sensation of his rough lips and teeth nibbling at her tender buds and of his tongue, soft and supple as it licked at her skin, somehow revived that curious vibration in the depths of Sansa’s core. Losing control over herself for the space of a single second, the girl let a small moan escape her lips. At the sound of her own licentious cry, she tensed and tried to dominate her senses, adamant about not appearing bizarre in the Hound’s eyes.

 

It was too late though, for her whimper took the man out of the frenzy he had been in. Almost immediately, he raised his head and stared straight at Sansa, his face only inches from hers, and his lips gradually curled into a wolfish grin. His long black hair was tangled over his face and somewhat covering his scars but the girl could unmistakably see the wildness of his eyes between the matted tendrils and she almost gasped at the terrifying strength of his desire for her.

 

Then, in one rapid movement Sandor Clegane pushed Sansa onto her back and hovered over her, seemingly unperturbed by the yelp he elicited from her. Clutching at her waist, he grunted softly as he buried his face into her neck and sniffed at her hair in a manner very like that of a dog and Sansa’s eyes went wide at the similitude. His body was so heavy over hers and the studded leather of his jerkin was boring into her skin through the thin fabric of her dress. Already she felt small and vulnerable against so big and strong a man and naught _real_ had happened yet. What would it be like when he… he…

 

Still, however frightened and defenceless she was, warmth was hastily flowing from her centre and whirling to the very tips of her limbs in a fashion so new, exciting, peculiar and troubling… Slowly letting go, Sansa felt herself gradually going softer and shockingly, she couldn’t find it in her to truly mind the carelessness she was apparently starting to fall into. _Perhaps I have it in me to go through with this after all,_ she reflected, almost believing her own thought until something hard and seemingly _very big_ rubbed against her thigh.

 

As the notion of what that _thing_ undoubtedly was hit her, Sansa’s breath caught in her throat and her previous and very brief hope of finally having won over her nervousness crumbled upon itself as easily as a house of cards blown by a violent gust of wind. She had never seen a grown man’s member and the apparent size of the Hound’s shaft was certainly disconcerting. Of course, it was only logical that a male so tall and broad be also proportionate _down there_ , but still! Why did her _only_ potential ally have to be the most _imposing_ warrior she knew?!

 

Seemingly not noticing her distress, the Hound pushed his manhood even harder against her side all the while reaching for the hem of her dress and pulling it up to her waist. At the contact of the fresh air, the slender muscles of Sansa’s legs contracted all the way to her feet, her toes curling upon themselves and digging into the featherbed.

 

Panting, Sandor Clegane glanced down at the pale pulled-up legs he had uncovered and began stroking the thigh nearer to him with a heavy hand, pushing down her high, thin silk stocking. Taut under his possessive touch, Sansa threw her head back and breathed in deeply, adamant about taming the fear that was permeating her courage once more, same as it was sure to anytime a new line was crossed that night.

 

With a grunt, the man then abruptly stood up. “Get out of that dress,” he demanded in an almost playful whisper while seizing both of Sansa’s small hands in his own and pulling her to her feet.

 

Biting at her lip, the girl hesitated for an instant, feeling suddenly very self-conscious and shy to expose herself even more. Involuntarily, she folded her arms before her for a very short moment but there was no sense in the gesture. Shutting her eyes for a heartbeat, she reminded herself of the motive that had brought her there and began loosening the laces that had been left untouched by the Hound before pulling her dress over her head.

 

Sandor Clegane’s eyes roved over her nakedness from the second she was freed from her gown and Sansa’s whole body instantly became even more red and burning – if that was possible. Laying his hands over the small of her back, the man dragged her against him and lowered his face over the curve of her neck, biting her there.

 

“Come now, let’s make you a woman,” he rasped, pushing her gently onto the bed. Then, just as she bounced on the mattress he seemed to remember something and lifted her again. “Wait,” he told her. Raising his hands to his collar, the Hound undid the clasp that kept his Kingsguard cloak tied around his shoulders and threw the large piece of cloth over the bed. “You don’t want your handmaidens to find any proof of your _misconduct_ tomorrow morning, I’ll wager,” he said, glancing down slyly at her. 

 

At that, Sansa raised a hand to her mouth and gasped. “Oh, thank you, my lord!” she exclaimed, grateful that he’d think about it. The notion that she had _completely_ forgotten about such an important detail sent a chill all the way down her spine. “But your cloak... don’t you think that -?”

 

The Hound cut her off with a mocking snort before she had a chance of finishing her sentence. “You think anyone will give a fucking shit about a few drops of blood over the so very _pure_ white of my cloak?” Laughing dryly, he grabbed Sansa by the waist and brought her over the mattress again. “If anything, your maiden blood will make the mucky think _purer_.”

 

Biting at his bottom lip, Sandor Clegane studied her for a few heartbeats, all the while settling a hand over her flat belly. Slowly, he let it slide over her silk underclothes and seized one of the delicate ribbons that held it in place. _That’s it,_ Sansa thought, shutting her eyes. A moment later, both of Sandor Clegane’s hands were clasping the last of her garments and bringing them down. Against her will, she let out a small cry at the feel of the fine fabric slipping all the way from her thighs to her ankles and of her soft stockings following until the light pieces of fabric all noiselessly fell onto the floor. Instinctively, she brought her knees together and squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could. _No. The Hound must not know how frightened I am_ , she told herself although there was no way she acted otherwise.

 

“You truly are a sweet little thing, believe my word on that,” the Hound muttered while moving over her and spreading her bare legs. “I knew it already, but now…” Lowering his head, he bit at the soft skin of her inner thigh and inhaled deeply at the scent of her before moving back and standing up.

 

Although she kept her eyes closed, Sansa could hear him moving and fumbling with something that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but his clothes. Against her own will, she raised her head and peered upward. When she opened her eyes, Sandor Clegane was already bare chested and unlacing his breeches. The sight of his hairy, muscled torso and of all the scars that covered him sent her heart racing frantically. There was naught reassuring about the idea that this incredibly powerful man would soon cover her frail body with his and invade her as-yet unspoiled sanctuary… and still… why did the view of him revive that queer ache she had almost forgotten about? She was frightened but her fear was not pure; it was marred with something else she couldn’t understand.    

 

As Sansa was tormenting herself with these unanswerable questions, Sandor Clegane’s breeches and underclothes fell to the ground and her eyes widened at the sight that awaited her.

 

The Hound snorted a short laugh at her response. “You’ve never seen a man, of course,” he rasped lowly, a smirk curling his lips. “I’m not used getting such a reaction. Some whores are surprised but you…” he trailed off, his smirk evolving into a wicked half-grin.

 

Petrified, Sansa threw her head sideways and hid her eyes in the rough cloth of the man’s cloak. “I’m sorry, my lord, I-”

 

“No need for that. Now calm yourself. I told you I’d be careful, didn’t I?”

 

 _He has. He has,_ Sansa reminded herself as she felt his weight settling over her body. His skin was warm against hers and his hands strong as they parted her legs wide. Very briefly, she had glimpsed his manhood a moment ago and the concept that something so big and terrifying would soon enter the depths of her core was totally out of her grasp. _Every woman goes through that experience sooner or later. This is no different,_ Sansa tried to reassure herself.

 

The hardness of the man’s shaft was rubbing against her belly and mound and all the while, his mouth was exploring her neck and upper breasts, his hands her ribs and waist. And then suddenly, his fingers went down to her navel and reached the juncture of her thighs, sliding between her folds. The sensation it brought was overwhelming. Sansa had touched herself down there in the past to clean herself or on a few rare occasions out of naughty curiosity, but never before had that part of her been so responsive. Against her will, a whimper escaped her lips.

 

“Not too bad, is it?” Sansa heard the Hound’s husky voice murmur in her ear.

 

Abashed, Sansa neither wished to displease the man nor to lie to him – the feeling had indeed been… not painful. “No…” she breathed, her skin bright with shame.

 

“Mmm… good,” he rasped, stroking his fingers more vigorously.

 

Instinctively, Sansa arched her back against him, feeling the solidity of his muscles against her. _It won’t be so terrible,_ she told herself as Sandor Clegane caressed the singular wetness that was seeping from her lady’s parts, the gesture sending shocks throughout her body.

 

But then, just as she was only barely starting to relax, the man aimed his swollen member at her entrance. Sansa stiffened and gasped instantly. She could sense how big he was already and he had not even begun entering and the idea that he would in a question of seconds froze her at once.

 

Laying both her hands over his shoulders, she clutched desperately at the muscles she found there. “Be careful! Please!” she cried, instantly blushing at her outburst.

 

“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. Remember, little bird?” Pausing, Sandor Clegane’s eyes sparkled and a small smirk appeared on his ravaged features. “Well… as much as I could, that is.”

 

“Yes,” Sansa breathed meekly. “I do remember.”

 

“Then relax. It won’t be so bad.”

 

She did trust his words and yet, how could a maiden be calm while the member of a man that was at least more than twice her size and weight poked at her entrance? Breathing in, she shut her eyes and attempted to soothe her nerves. _He’ll be careful, he’ll be-_

White lightning as powerful as the strongest thunderstorm suddenly overtook her. Against her will, Sansa cried out as she felt her body being invaded so very deeply by another. Without even realising it, she clung to the man that dominated her slender self and dug her nails into his rough skin.

 

“Hush!” the Hound hissed. “You don’t want to alert the whole Red Keep, do you?”

 

“No… no, I’m sorry, my lord. I… I…”

 

“No need for apologising, little bird. All is fine. Just keep quiet,” then man murmured almost softly before resuming the thrusting of his hips against hers.

 

 _It’s done! It’s done!_ Sansa told herself as she felt the burning of her womanhood very slowly dispel. From now on, she knew _without a doubt_ that the accord she and the Hound had agreed upon couldn’t be reversed. He had taken her maidenhead and naught could change it. The idea allowed her to relax slightly, even though her body was seemingly being cut open.

 

Nevertheless, the exchange was still far from over and the man shortly became more vigorous in his movements, shoving himself within her with increasing force. Never before had Sansa felt so robbed of her privacy; not only was her centre being assailed almost savagely but her whole self was engulfed by the Hound. His scent was seemingly _everywhere_ around her, musky and strong and swirling into her nostrils.

 

Somehow though - and albeit Sansa felt raw between her thighs - the friction of Sandor Clegane’s manhood inside her was oddly getting less painful and morphing into something else entirely. With each thrust, she gasped and as she knew their deal had been sealed, she didn’t feel as compelled as she had previously to keep herself in check. It didn’t matter anymore if she groaned and it seemed weird to the Hound; he would help her flee nonetheless. True, she was still timid about those puzzling compulsions she had but there was no more real urgency to hide them and the awareness brought her an unexpected sense of relief.  

 

It was a good thing because the comings-and-goings of Sandor Clegane’s shaft in her were swiftly waking something Sansa didn’t even know was hidden in her. She didn’t understand what was taking her but she suddenly longed to hold his brawny body against hers as he possessed her.

 

Moaning, she arched herself and let the Hound claim her without resistance. His manhood was huge and powerful between her thighs but somehow, it was sliding easily. So often throughout the years of her captivity she had felt so insufferably small and feeble and now that she was dominated by the sturdiest man she knew, it was almost as if by clinging to him she could claim some his strength for herself and the illusion was fortifying. He was so strong… no one could hurt him.

 

Craning her neck, Sansa gazed up at her assailant’s face and was immediately struck by the look of him. Although still as fierce and intent as they usually were, his eyes were no longer filled with the rage that always cloaked them. There was a passion and a longing there that she would never have suspected _in a million years_ might possibly be hidden in him. For a heartbeat, their stares locked and it was as if the thirst she read in him imbued her.

 

Without thinking, she let her hands travel from his bulky arms to the solidity of his chest.  All the while, a deep cry escaped her mouth and she spread her thighs even farther apart to give the man the space he needed to thrust himself even deeper inside of her.

 

It was getting… pleasurable, Sansa realised with stupefaction from the trance-like state she was engulfed in and so she instinctively folded her legs around the Hound’s broad hips. Seemingly pleased by her reaction, the man laid his lips over her neck, gently biting at the skin – but still with undeniable hunger. The girl moaned but then the strangeness of their encounter abruptly hit her. They weren’t lovers, that was true enough but still, how empty the act they shared seemed. How bizarre was it that they could do what they did _and yet not kiss_? Not only was it awkward but it was… illogical… _unnatural_ even.

 

Sansa didn’t want to kiss him; he was hideous with his terrible burned face and besides, he was also a very hateful man with eyes that burned with wrath anytime they beheld the world that surrounded them. Every coherent fibre of her being told her she should just forget about it and let him take her as he did - strenuously and impersonally - and yet… it felt so wrong.

 

It was her first time after all and although it wouldn’t mean anything, she needed the very important symbol that the encounter of their lips would bring. Why? She couldn’t tell but thus was the calling of her heart and thereby, she circled her arms around Sandor Clegane’s sturdy neck and pressed her lips against his. 

 

The man had been so absorbed by his actions that she had to pull him toward her; still he didn’t resist and even opened his mouth and plunged his tongue against hers from the moment their lips met.

 

Kissing the Hound was a strange thing. Although a part of Sansa wanted to be disgusted at the idea that she could share something so intimate with so horrible a man, most of her was transported by the feeling. His lips and tongue were meeting hers in a manner that was almost that of a queer dance, a dance unknown by all _until now_ and that they were both discovering with the same unexpected fascination… one that had been forgotten through the ages of time and reserved for no-one else but them. _What am I thinking?_ Sansa scolded herself, briskly removing her lips from the Hound’s.

 

Growling in complaint at her abrupt withdrawal, the man glared at her very shortly but then, he promptly retook himself and quickened his thrusts, seizing Sansa firmly by the waist to guide the sliding of his member. “Little bird,” he breathed, before unexpectedly pushing her away and rolling onto his back. Letting out a deep cry, he stroked his manhood with a tight grip until it exploded over his belly in long, white splashes.

 

Glancing sideways, Sansa stared at Sandor Clegane for a long time - her legs still wide open before her in a most unladylike fashion. Both dizzy and confused, it took her almost a minute to realise what had just taken place. _It’s done! It’s done! The deal is done!_ she cried out inwardly, not believing it herself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a small one to start off the week on the right foot! As you’ll see, it’s really a continuation of the previous chapter. I hope you’ll enjoy! :)

**Sansa**

 

 

For a long time, they both regained control over their breathing, suddenly alone on their respective sides of the bed while moments earlier they had been joined so intimately. The separation was queer, unsettling even after the previous unexpected passion Sansa had just experienced. Had she _really_ kissed the Hound? The notion was petrifying! Her plan had been to trade her maidenhood for his help in escaping from King’s Landing but somehow, the whole experience had incomprehensibly gotten much more intense. She felt unfulfilled now, as if she had been longing for something _more_... but no, that was absurd. What more could she possibly have been aspiring to gain from their encounter than her freedom?

 

Out the corner of her eyes, Sansa could see Sandor Clegane’s large, hairy chest heaving up and down as the man lay on his back, his eyes peacefully shut. She didn’t dare make a single sound or even shift from her place for fear she would disrupt him; there was really no divining which mood he’d be in once he returned to his senses after all. Still, some incurable instinct drew her to bring her legs together when the impropriety of her position finally hit her and at the movement, the Hound’s eyes instantly popped open.

 

At the sight, Sansa’s breath caught in her throat and a new wave of nervousness illogically flew over her. There was no reason for her to be so agitated anymore - her deal with Sandor Clegane had been irrevocably sealed after all – but still, there was no controlling the frantic beating of her heart as she waited for him to say something. For what appeared as an eternity though, the man stayed silent and only stared at the emptiness before him, seemingly lost in his thoughts, but then his eyes narrowed with scorn and the corner of his mouth twitched.

 

With a grunt, the Hound stretched his massive body and glanced at Sansa, his usual scowl already twisting his face. “I’d best get going,” he rasped dryly, sitting up. Carelessly, he bowed and rubbed off the seed that was still splattered over his belly with his Kingsguard cloak before rising to his feet. Wasting no time, he immediately reached for his underclothes and put them on as soon as he got a hold of them. “That ship you told me about… what was it named again?” he asked nonchalantly once the garment was well in place.

 

“The _Travelling Titan_ ,” Sansa promptly answered while propping herself up on her hands and sitting up.

 

“I’ll get you safely into one of its cabins before it leaves King’s Landing; you can rest assured now,” the man muttered flatly while retrieving his breeches from the floor. As he rose to his full height, he glanced at Sansa, his stare brazenly travelling down her naked curves.

 

Finally realising how bare she was, the girl drew her legs up and folded her arms over her breasts in a vain attempt at modesty. “I thank you so much for your help, my lord,” she answered meekly, feeling her cheeks redden.

 

Giving her a sidelong glance, Sandor Clegane continued, somewhat irritated. “No bloody need to be _grateful_ , girl. You’ve done your part, now let me do mine.” Without looking at her, he slid both his legs into his breeches and began lacing them back up.

 

Silence stretched between them for a time and Sansa was quickly absorbed by an ocean of thoughts. Absent-mindedly, she followed the Hound with her eyes as he wandered through the room, searching for his tunic. It was hard to believe that the beast of a man that stood before her – one that many might consider a vision from the seven hells - had covered her whole body so very completely moments earlier, kissing her with fierce tenderness while invading her womanhood with undeniable finality. Never would she have envisioned the man that would take her maiden gift to be so impressively muscled, tall and covered with scars as Sandor Clegane was, but then again all males looked small and unmarred in contrast to him.

 

Breathing in deeply, the Hound grabbed his tunic and let it fall in place over the broadness of his torso, the rough fabric covering the dark line of hair that grew over his stomach and abruptly taking Sansa out of her musings.

 

“Oh! I’d almost forgotten!” she exclaimed as remembrance hit her. Rolling onto her side, she let her arm fall beside the featherbed and caught her dress on the floor, swiftly pulling it over her head and standing up. Her fingers fumbling clumsily over the loose laces of her gown, Sansa ran to her drawers. “You need my jewels!” she added, as she unlocked her jewellery box.

 

With a questioning grunt, the Hound turned in her direction and impatiently gazed down at her.

 

“I told you I’d give them to you to pay for my passage, remember?” Sansa explained, glancing shyly at him while gathering her earrings and necklaces.

 

“Right,” Sandor Clegane replied in a tone that sounded strangely annoyed.

 

Settling his leather jerkin over his shoulders, he took a few slow steps toward Sansa until he was less than half a yard from her, his large figure casting a shadow over her. The girl felt as intimidated by their proximity as she had ever been, which was certainly odd considering how the warmth of his skin had brushed all over hers only a few minutes ago. _Or perhaps is it the very notion of what has transpired between us that makes me so uneasy,_ Sansa mused, feeling herself blush as the man watched her put the jewels into a scarf.

 

“Here, my lord,” she told him while handing him the bundle, barely able to meet his eyes.

 

At that, the Hound’s mouth twitched and he snorted with something like contempt but he took the jewels anyway. Briefly, he weighed them in his large hand before sighing and settling them over the table by his side. “You have more than you need for your passage in here. I’ll make sure you get the most possible out of it.”

 

“I thank you for that, my lord,” Sansa replied reflexively while gazing at him through her lashes.

 

“I told you already: there’s _no_ _fucking_ _need_ to be thankful for anything I do, girl,” the man hissed, his scowl deepening as he lowered his face toward her.

 

Taken aback by the harshness of his reaction, Sansa jumped and recoiled from him, her back hitting her drawers as she did so.

 

Seemingly calming down just as soon, the Hound closed in on her and raised his hand to her face, letting his knuckles trail down from her cheek to her neck. “As I see it anyhow, I’ve gotten the best side of our _little deal,”_ he murmured, the hint of a smirk curving his lips and a spark passing through his dark eyes.  “Don’t you agree, _little bird_?”

 

“I...” Sansa trailed off, unsure of how she was supposed to answer such a question.

 

Snorting, Sandor Clegane removed his hand from Sansa, the corner of his mouth pulling into a frown. “Enough talk. I’d best go now before one of your handmaidens comes for a surprise visit and catches me here. I won’t be of much help getting you out of here if my head is adorning the Red Keep’s buggering battlement.” With that, he turned around and went to retrieve his sword belt from the corner of the room.

 

As he left her, Sansa let out a deep breath she was unaware she had been holding. Her back as taut as a bow and with her hands demurely clasped before her, she watched the Hound buckle his belt around his broad hips. Suddenly, she glimpsed something shifting at her side and her eyes immediately darted in the movement’s direction. _It’s only my reflection,_ the girl mused, feeling very foolish at having been frightened by a stupid mirror. Gazing distractedly into the glass, she quickly felt her eyes grow wide at the view of the tangled disarray her hair had become. _Oh! I’m a total mess!_ she thought, horrified. Her curls weren’t the worst of it though; her bodice only barely covered her breasts and Sansa gasped as she eyed the depth of her cleavage. In haste, she raised her hands to her laces and began tightening them more until the swell of her breasts was less evident.

From the chair he had lowered himself into, Sandor Clegane let out a low, hoarse laugh and Sansa jerked her head toward him from the moment she heard it. The man had halted in the lacing of his boots to gaze at her with eyes both mocking and lustful. “Why so eager to cover yourself? Didn’t I just fuck you? As I remember it, those pretty white teats you seem so adamant about hiding were in my mouth only moments ago.”

 

Speechless, Sansa stared at him for a few heartbeats, her cheeks burning red. “But you’ve dressed too!” she retorted once she found her voice again.

 

“That’s because _I’m leaving_ ,” he explained, a wolfish half-grin slowly forming on his lips. “If you’re certain no one will disturb us and you really want me to stay, I’ll take off my clothes again.”

 

At that, Sansa’s mouth opened in shock but no sound came out.

 

“Didn’t think you would,” Sandor Clegane grumbled, his grin souring slightly. “Still, that doesn’t mean you have to hurry covering yourself as if I’d never seen you.”

 

Her cheeks hot with embarrassment at the man’s crude suggestions, Sansa lowered her eyes to the floor and kept silent.

 

After a moment of stillness, the Hound grunted and resumed the fastening of his boots. “ _Right_. I’ve got what I wanted and now, I have no fucking place to complain – is that it?” he muttered with barely-hidden bitterness.

 

Sansa was too ill at ease to reply; the whole situation was completely out of her comfort zone and there was naught in her education that had prepared her to face anything even slightly similar.

 

“You’ve got the right of it, _of course_ ,” the man added exactly as if she had acquiesced to his intimation. Uttering a humourless, dry laugh, Sandor Clegane stood and stalked toward the door in one rapid movement. “I’m out of here.”

 

The abruptness of his departure took Sansa out of the muteness she had shielded herself with just as briskly. “Oh! Wait!” she exclaimed. In a hurry, she ran to the table and seized the bundle she had hidden her jewels in. With the same speed, she turned around but slowed her pace at once when she saw the Hound - all sombre and imposing – standing on the doorstep. “Here, my lord,” she told him timidly once she reached him. Their proximity was once more unsettling to her, inducing the rhythm of her pulse to increase and her stomach to flutter so very queerly.

 

Snorting, the Hound took the jewels from Sansa’s hands and tilted his head, his narrowed eyes boring into hers. “I guess we’ll see each other at court tomorrow. Until then – and even after - make certain not to draw any attention to yourself. Act the same as you would any other buggering day.”

 

Nodding, Sansa watched as he opened the door and then closed it behind him.

 

From the instant his imposing shape left the room, the girl felt as if a thousand pounds had been lifted from her shoulders. She was grateful to the Hound for accepting her offer and promising her his help – no matter how he obviously didn’t want her to be - but his presence alone was enough to make her feel extremely intimidated, especially after what had just taken place between them. Some time alone to think everything over was all she truly yearned for.

 

“Little bird,” Sansa heard from outside the door just as she was about to push its heavy bolt closed. At the sound of the Hound’s hoarse voice, she grew anxious all over again.

 

“What is it, my lord?” she asked in a voice small like a child’s as she opened it for him.

 

“My cloak,” he simply said, staring down at her through the ajar door.

 

Sansa’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest when she heard his words. What a total _catastrophe_ it would have been if he had not remembered and she’d have been stuck with such damning evidence of their treason to the king! Without delay, she ran to her bed and grabbed the large piece of cloth. _My maiden blood!_ she thought to herself as she glimpsed the red spattering that now stained the rough, white wool. It was strange to reflect upon the meaning that simple drop of blood held but she didn’t have time to ponder it and quickly gave the piece of fabric back to Sandor Clegane instead.

 

Nearly snatching it from her hands, he grunted and his mouth twitched slightly. “Now I’m going for real. Have sweet dreams, little bird. I know I will,” he rasped lowly, his lips curling into a faint smirk as he said his last words before he pushed the door shut.

 

Immediately bolting the lock, Sansa turned around and pressed her back against the door, breathing in deeply as she listened to Sandor Clegane’s retreating footsteps. When she was certain he was not going to come back, she strode to her featherbed and jumped onto the mattress, a wave of clashing feelings overwhelming her from the instant she lay over the thick covers. Her confusion was acute and as her anxiety dropped, she finally realised how tired she was but she couldn’t allow herself to rest just yet. First, she needed to clean up and change into a nightgown and thus, with a sigh, she stood up and put all her attention into those mundane tasks for a time, knowing very well that her mind would soon be overtaken by images of what had taken place tonight and that she was perhaps living her last moments of peace.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I hope you’ll enjoy! :)

**Sansa**

 

Sophia, one of Sansa’s handmaidens, had just opened the window to freshen the place and was installing herself by the bath when a cool burst of morning air entered the chamber. At the chilly contact against her naked skin, Sansa shivered and immediately sank her shoulders under the steaming water.

 

“Could my lady please keep her back straight? I won’t be able to clean you properly otherwise,” the handmaiden gently complained.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sophia,” Sansa replied while wearily bracing her back.

 

It was barely past dawn but the girl had been awake for more than a couple of hours by now. Her sleep hadn’t been peaceful at all to say the least. Throughout the last night, she had kept rolling between her covers, certain she could still smell the Hound’s scent oozing from her skin despite that fact that she had sponged her body with cold water and rubbed it as vigorously as she could with fragranced soap until her skin was as pink as a newborn’s. When she finally fell into oblivion, her dreams had been filled with his dark and invasive presence and she had woken with a start mere hours later. That anyone couldn’t divine that Sandor Clegane had been in her chamber come morning had seemed impossible. That traces of him on her wouldn’t be visible to anyone with a fit pair of eyes had appeared similarly _inconceivable_ but she had wondered desperately what more she could do that she hadn’t done already?

 

When the first rays of light had entered her room, sunbeams had fallen over the table and Sansa’s sleepy eyes had grown wide with fright in an instant as she glimpsed the Hound’s wineskin, still laid _exactly_ where the man had left it the previous night. _How could we both have forgotten about it?_ she had reflected in panic while jumping out of her bed and running to the table. There had been no time to ponder it though as Sansa’s handmaidens usually arrived at first light and so the girl had grabbed the wineskin, strode to her window and thrown the thing out of it as far as she could. A lost wineskin in the courtyard wouldn’t raise an eyebrow, would it? While Sansa drank a glass of sweet wine with most of her meals, the Hound’s rough preferences were certainly not what one might expect to find in a young maiden’s chamber and hence, ridding herself of the incongruous object had been _imperative_.

 

 _A young maiden’s chamber_ , Sansa bitterly repeated to herself, eyes shut with despair. She had lost all right to that title yesterday and although people would still be calling her as such until the day she wed, she would _never_ deserve the name again. _How will I not blush in shame every time I hear the word?_ Sansa wondered, while folding her arms around her pulled-up legs. There was something very unfair about it all. With her upbringing, she knew well enough the value of keeping her purity. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t wished to follow the precept either - Sansa was a good girl after all - but no! She truly had had no other choice…

 

When her handmaidens had arrived shortly afterwards, she had been lying in bed, pretending to still be asleep. The women had hurriedly begun their usual routine of tidying up the place but Sansa had quickly interrupted them and demanded that warm water be brought to her room as soon as possible. She had vainly hoped that a bath might purge her of the memory of Sandor Clegane’s hands roaming all over her skin and yet, now that she sat in her large adorned brass bath, the feel of his palms and fingers exploring her every inch was still as fresh as ever.

 

“Stretch backward, Lady Sansa,” Sophia suddenly asked. The girl listened and let the handmaiden clean her chest and ribs.

 

Sighing deeply, she squeezed her eyes even more tightly and tried to chase away the images of the Hound nibbling hungrily at her nipples that were now assailing her mind. Her effort proved fruitless, evidently. She would seemingly never rid herself of the memory of how the ugliest warrior in Westeros had used her body to take his pleasure.

 

Aware of how useless the fight was, Sansa disconsolately opened her eyes and peered into the soapy water. She was almost surprised to note that she was formed exactly as she had been before her deflowering, no matter how different she felt from yesterday at the same time. Her thighs, hips and breasts were as girlish to her eyes as she remembered them to be before she had been made _woman_.

 

It was mystifying that something as ordinary as her body could rouse so much passion in any man. Yet, there was no doubting the strength of the desire that had been awakened in the Hound as he viewed her bare curves. He had been a changed man from _the moment_ he had glimpsed her nakedness and the notion alone was enough to elicit all sorts of weird fluttering in Sansa’s belly. As she grew aware of her own unwanted reaction, she wrinkled her nose and began squirming uncomfortably in the water but swiftly stilled when Sophia gazed at her with badly-hidden impatience.  

 

Sighing, the old handmaiden shook her head but said nothing and resumed her ministrations. With the same careful efficiency, she started rubbing Sansa’s thighs and the girl instantly raised her stare over her long, pale legs, recalling how Sandor Clegane had spread them as wide as he could and shoved his swollen member into the warmth between them. _Why do I have to replay each of his actions in my head, over and over again as I do?_ Sansa thought almost angrily, tossing her frowning head back. By allowing him to take her, not only had Sansa given him her maidenhood and made him her very first man but she had apparently also been dispossessed of her own body and that for far longer than the time of the _act_ in itself. Indeed, every part of her now reminded her of the Hound, of how he had claimed her for himself, covered every inch of her and left her naught of herself to call her own. She had no shelter from him now, for even when she shut her eyes, any contact she felt brought to mind how his possessive hands had travelled every path her body offered.

 

Still, how could she possibly complain about anything at all? The man had not raped her: _she_ had been the one to propose the whole deal. _I gave him the right to it,_ she mused, fighting not to cover her face with her hands in shame. _And… I enjoyed it._

 

 _No! No, that’s untrue_! she rapidly corrected herself, her eyes wide with horror. How could she, after all? He was the Hound, all gloomy and gruesomely scarred, a warrior so intimidating that most knights were uneasy in his presence. There was no logic in thinking that she might have enjoyed the sacrifice she had made so very reluctantly! It had taken her _days_ of tormented reflection only to begin considering the idea of offering herself to him. There was certainly no possibility that she might have felt anything but disgust and pain during the deed.

 

And yet, as she was being cleaned by Sophia, each caress the man had given her kept coming back to her, the memory inducing her centre to vibrate in a very troubling manner. How weird had been the sensation of his manhood inside of her, so solid and big. Even stranger was the fact that by the end of their encounter, it hadn’t even really hurt anymore. _Enough! I need to stop thinking about it. Now!_ Sansa scolded herself, totally abashed at her own scandalous train of thought.

 

What would her lady mother think if she knew about all this? That her young daughter had sold her maidenhood to the infamous Hound in exchange for his help and not even hated it? _She’ll never need to know about it,_ Sansa tried to reassure herself. The deed in itself was another matter though. She would have no choice but to tell her the truth once they were reunited. After all, how could she explain her escape from a castle as well guarded as the Red Keep to anyone and make them believe she had achieved it _by herself_? It would be evident to all that she had had an ally and there’d be no use in pretending she had found one for free.

 

“You’re all set, my lady. Please stand up,” Sophia announced, a large towel in hands.

 

Without a word, Sansa obeyed and let the handmaiden wrap her in the dry fabric before stepping out of the bath. _Mother will approve of my actions once I explain everything to her. She’ll only be happy to have me by her side again and won’t judge the decision I was forced to make,_ Sansa tried to convince herself as she rubbed off the drops of water that still covered her skin. All she could do was pray she was right.

 

****

 

Sansa was sitting by her open window, working on her embroidery as she usually did when she was by herself. The day was beautiful and warm and it wasn’t even midday yet. _A perfect day for leaving and never coming back, for escaping a cruel city on the deck of an elegant ship…_ she mused with a sigh, wishing the time could finally come. From where she was, she could glimpse a slim strip of faraway water shining under the sun between the tall houses on the horizon. If only she could fly over its waves like a bird…

 

A few days had passed since the night the Hound had taken her. Still, it was hard for her not to think about what had transpired between them most of the time, especially when she was alone in her featherbed, waiting for sleep. It was also hard to ignore the throbbing she felt down in her belly at those lonely moments, when she recalled the events that had unfolded in the very bed she lay in. It was often temping to let her fingers travel down her stomach and reach that part of her but she had somehow always resisted. Still, she hadn’t managed to prevent one of her hands from grasping her breasts and caressing their taut nipples sometimes, as she fell asleep. Sansa shut her eyes in shame at the memory. This would _have_ to stop and soon.

 

On a couple of occasions, she had seen Sandor Clegane again. When the first incident had taken place, she had been completely overwhelmed by nervousness and not only because of what they’d done when they’d last met but because of the way they’d left each other.

 

While the Hound was unquestionably a bitter and grim man, Sansa had glimpsed a part of him that wasn’t so dark during the _act_ and to some measure afterwards as he dressed. He had even seemed to be somewhat good-humoured for a brief instant but his mood had rapidly soured when Sansa responded to his teasing with silence and eyes lowered to the floor. In reaction, he had quickly decamped from her room, his temper as foul as ever, and the girl had been too uneasy and most of all, _inexperienced_ to attempt anything that might quell his discontentment. In all honesty anyhow, she had been eagerly waiting for him to leave her room from the second he had risen from the bed and been relieved when she was finally alone. Later though when she had thought back on the events, Sansa had felt some measure of guilt for letting him leave in such a state but that was _ridiculous_ of course. All he had wanted was more of… _her_ … of the deal they had agreed upon. Why should she feel bad for not indulging him in something he had no right to expect?

 

Yet, her guilt had seemingly not faded when their paths crossed again and that, added to her confusion, shyness and the man’s intimidating presence, had brought Sansa’s eyes to fly to the ground as soon as she glimpsed him in the throne room. It was of course ridiculous and absurd that she would react in exactly the same manner that had caused the Hound’s irritation, considering the man’s foul mood was the very reason that she felt guilty in the first place. Nevertheless, it was common knowledge that logic never prevailed where nerves were concerned and Sansa had only been able to agree as she fixed her eyes on the exquisite ceramic of the floor and waited for the beating of her heart to steady.

 

Only later, when she had felt somewhat less agitated, had Sansa chanced glancing in Sandor Clegane’s direction and she had nearly gasped to realise that - unknown to the crowd which only had eyes for the fat Pentoshi ambassador that showed off all the wonderful presents he had brought for the king – the man was brazenly staring at her and had probably been doing it for some time. At first, their stares had locked – his cold and unreadable, hers timid and hesitant. After a moment though, the rigidity of his stance had lessened, his eyes narrowed slightly and the corner of his mouth curled very faintly. The change in him had startled Sansa so much that she had averted her eyes with the same haste as that of fingers touching fire. Staring at the fat ambassador while not truly noticing any of what he did, she had felt herself blushing fiercely, certain that the Hound’s gaze was still on her, drinking her in as avidly as he did his strong wine. However when her curiosity had finally gotten the better of her and she dared peer in his direction again, he had been glowering at the emptiness before him and looked so dark and daunting that she had not grasped the courage to gaze anywhere near him afterward for the rest of the session.

 

On another occasion, they had met very briefly as Sansa headed to the godswood. The hall in which they had stumbled had been too crowded for them to talk and she was unsure if she had been relieved or not. The only thing of which she was certain was that from the moment she noticed the Hound’s presence, she had jumped and tensed as she saw how intently he was staring at her. As far as she could tell by his gleaming eyes, he had seemed somewhat pleased at crossing paths with her and yet, his joy was so impure, tainted with something else… something of which Sansa now knew all too well. Her whole body as warm as a coal straight from the hearth, she had nervously lowered her gaze and quickened her pace until she was certain he was far behind and then only had she been able to breathe normally.

 

Only now as she stitched flowery patterns alone in her chamber, the girl was regretting not having at least tried to get some information from Sandor Clegane as to how his part of the deal was going. Had he secured a place for her on the ship yet? Had he already figured a way to get her out of the Red Keep unnoticed? And _when_ would the time finally come? Sansa had _hundreds_ of questions but was unsure if she’d ever get the chance or the nerve to ask any. She depended on him; that was unquestionable. Thankfully, she did trust him and she held on to that belief as one would a lifebuoy in the middle of an ocean. Had the Hound not repeatedly told her how much he hated liars?

 

 _Knock! Knock!_ “Lady Sansa?” a deep voice suddenly came from beyond her door.

 

Jumping, Sansa turned toward the sound. “Yes? Who is this?”

 

“Ser Boros Blount. I’m here on the king’s order.”

 

Sansa shivered. “What is wanted from me?” she asked, unable to hide the fear that laced her voice.

 

“Our good king is going riding today. He wishes to try the new thoroughbred horse he has recently received. You’ve been asked to join him.”

 

“Oh,” Sansa murmured, feeling suddenly very anxious. “I need to change then. Has one of my handmaidens been informed?”

 

“No and there is no time for it either. The king is already waiting for you in the courtyard. He has asked me to escort you _at once_.”

 

“Well, I’ll try to manage by myself then-”

 

“No,” Ser Boros cut her off with a resolute yet dispassionate voice. “This won’t do either. You need to come _now_.”                                                                                    

 

“But-”

 

“Open, Lady Sansa,” he ordered, shaking the door.

 

Her heart in her throat, the girl jumped from her chair and ran. “All right! I’m coming!”

 

In haste, she unclasped the bolt and let Boros Blount in and just as soon, the man unceremoniously grabbed her by the arm and led her toward the stairs.

 

“Let’s not make King Joffrey wait,” he said in a tone so flat that Sansa doubted he had even a single clue of how submerged in dread she was at that instant.

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After more than a month, here is at long last a new chapter for this story. Sorry for the wait, as always school is to blame but the next one should be coming soon as I’m enjoying long holidays at the moment. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy this one!

**Sansa**

 

When, out of breath and still startled, Sansa arrived at the stables, the chestnut mare she usually used was already saddled and ready to go. _She had more time to prepare than myself,_ she mused bitterly, glancing down at her fancy apple-green gown and soft slippers. There was no helping the situation though and thereby, she let the skinny stable boy that uneasily waited by her side settle her into the saddle and followed Ser Boros as he led her to the courtyard.

 

Once they stepped outside, Sansa squinted her eyes against the midday sun’s glare and waited for her vision to adjust to the violent light. As the dark shadows before her transformed into a discernible group of people, she was somewhat relieved to note the reduced number of their party but shortly began to wonder if it was truly a good sign. Who was to say that Joffrey wouldn’t use the circumstances to his advantage and abuse her all the more, knowing that fewer witnesses would remember the torments he’d inflict upon her? Sighing in both despair and resignation, Sansa reluctantly advanced toward the group that awaited her, feeling as trapped as a wild animal surrounded on each side and knowingly walking to its own death.

 

Furtively, she let her eyes sweep over the party she was to spend the afternoon with. The king was the first person she spotted and he did stand out in his gold and crimson riding fineries. Close by, Joffrey’s cousin from Lannisport looked almost as regal, albeit not quite as much, of course. His name was Julius, wasn’t it? Sansa had met him on a few occasions but she was nevertheless still stricken by his likeness to the king; they could have passed for twins – even sporting the same arrogant smirk – and she hated him just as much. With them, Sansa glimpsed Ser Meryn and she shivered at the sight. Of all of Joffrey’s Kingsguard, he was the one she dreaded the most. He never shied away from beating her when the king asked and even seemed to take some pleasure in the act. And then, from behind them all, she glimpsed a movement – something large and dark - and realised, eyes widening, that it was the Hound mounted on his monstrous stallion.

 

In a way, Sansa was relieved to learn that he’d be among them also, as she had almost always been whenever she was forced to spend time with her _betrothed,_ and yet her whole body tensed from the moment she viewed his shape. For some reason, she had not expected Sandor Clegane to be part of their group although he was certainly Joffrey’s favourite member of the Kingsguard. It had been naïve on her part, she admitted to herself, lowering nervous eyes to her pommel.

 

“Sansa! We have been waiting for you! What took you so long?” Joffrey exclaimed as he laid his cruel little eyes on her.

 

While his stance was the one of the displeased monarch he so often took when he wished to intimidate her, he seemed jovial enough that Sansa relaxed slightly. “I was only informed that my presence was required moments ago. I came as soon as your will was known to me,” she submissively recited while bowing as much as was possible on horseback.

 

“Fair enough,” the king spat with unhidden disdain. “We’re going now. I won’t suffer us losing any more time.”

 

At that, Joffrey immediately turned his stallion around and trotted through the open door of the yard. His cousin and Ser Meryn immediately followed as well as a group of approximately twenty guards and manservants that had been silently waiting some distance behind. For an instant, Sansa stood in place and watched as they all disappeared from her view, riding as one in single file, as swiftly and fluidly as water swirling down rapids. Engrossed by the motion, the girl stared at their receding shapes - her mind elsewhere for a moment - and would perhaps have stayed in place even longer if not for the sound of hooves approaching her that suddenly grasped her attention.

 

Swiftly, she jerked her head in the sound’s direction and jolted in her saddle when her eyes met those of the Hound, who had come so near that their mounts nearly touched.

 

“Hurry up, girl,” the man hoarsely told her, his mouth set into a tight frown. He looked as sombre as ever and was garbed in worn, dark boiled leather with a chainmailshirt and his Kingsguard cloak on top.

 

It was the first time since _that night_ that they were so close and the sight of him nearly froze Sansa in place. There was naught about the man that betrayed any of what had occurred between them though. He seemed as cold and uncaring as could be expected from any of her betrothed’s other Kingsguards and the awareness somehow affected her. _It’s ridiculous_ , Sansa told herself. Not only would it appear queer for him to act any other way but there was no reason for her to expect anything else. Yet, there was no denying how very alone and confused she felt while looking at the strong and unshakable fortress he was. In contrast, she was as feeble as a straw house and thus couldn’t withstand the strength of his gaze. Instead, she averted her eyes and hurriedly pulled on her reins, flustered and eager to flee from his intimidating presence.

 

Her heart hammering violently in her chest, Sansa followed into the thick dirt cloud that obstructed the large doorway, coughing and shutting her eyes against the burning dust. With her sight obstructed, her only landmarks were those of the sound of the hooves of Sandor Clegane and Ser Boros’ horses as they hit the ground beside her, becoming hollow as they stuck the wood of the drawbridge. Shortly though, Sansa could feel the fullness of solid earth beneath her own mount and as her breathing came more easily, she hazarded peering at the outside world.

 

“Oh!” she let out, eyes widening at once when she realised how far she had fallen from the rest of the party

 

“Faster, my lady! The king has waited enough for you as it is!” Ser Boros urged her.

 

Too petrified to say anything, Sansa tightened her heels against her mare, crying out as the beast hastened its pace to a gallop. For a short instant, she lost her balance and nearly dropped her slippers as she adjusted her position but she thankfully managed to keep them in place. Sansa had never been a good rider, however with the inappropriate footwear and slippery silk dress she wore, her skills were reduced to none. Somehow though, she managed to increase her speed even more and was slowly approaching the rest of the party. The prospect that she wouldn’t delay the king in his outing after all slightly eased her nerves but she still didn’t dare glance at either of the men that flanked her. Without looking, she could make out both of their shapes beside her; Ser Boros small and bulky on her right and the Hound, dark and towering on her left. Was Sandor Clegane leering at her as he so often did? There was no way for her to know for sure, yet she was certain she could feel his searching gaze on her. The idea brought a blush to her cheeks but she nevertheless kept her stare straight ahead and didn’t chance shifting it from the horizon even once.

 

The ride seemed to take forever and Sansa was growing increasingly tired and out of breath as the minutes went by. She was thirsty and starting to feel worryingly dizzy. _No, don’t faint! Please!_ she was inwardly begging herself just as the group halted _at long last_.

 

As intent on keeping up with the others as she had been, Sansa was only now noticing the large glade in which she had arrived. _This is where Father’s tourney took place,_ she realised, a pang of sadness stabbing her through the heart. The place was empty of all the pavilions, benches and bright decorations that had filled it for that seemingly faraway event but there was no mistaking it for any other.

 

“This will do perfectly,” she heard Joffrey exclaim from where he was, some distance ahead of her. “I can’t wait to see how fast my new Thoroughbred will fare on grounds as solid as those.”

 

Guards were dispersing all over the glade and Sansa watched distractedly as they inspected the place while searching her saddle bag for something to drink. She shut her eyes in relief when she felt a wineskin under her fingers and smiled as she pressed its neck against her lips and realised it was filled with cool water. Gulping avidly, she didn’t notice Ser Meryn approaching until he was almost facing her.

 

“You ought to get down off your horse and take your place on the side as everyone else is doing, my lady,” he told her in a tone of reproach before turning around and heading to where servants were installing large tablecloths on the ground and settling baskets of food and drinks.

 

Slipping the wineskin back into the saddlebag, Sansa swiftly made to obey and twisted in the saddle but as she lifted her foot from the stirrup, her slipper got stuck and fell onto the ground.

 

“Oh!” she let out, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment. The inappropriateness of her garb shamed her to no end but was she really to blame when she hadn’t been notified that she’d be expected to ride in the afternoon? Hopefully no one had seen her footwear fall and she would manage to get out of the saddle and retrieve it before anyone noticed.

 

Her hopes were short lived.

 

“Losing feathers?” the Hound’s husky voice resounded from Sansa’s side before she had a chance to move.

 

Stiffening, she glanced in his direction and was appalled from the moment she set eyes on his massive body, bowing down to grasp the slipper from the ground.

 

“This is no good for riding, little bird,” he scolded her once he had risen to his full height, a mocking smirk curling his lips.

 

“I’m not to blame!” Sansa tried to justify in an offended but weak whisper. “No one told me-”

 

“Hush now. It’s too late anyhow,” Sandor Clegane silenced her lowly as he caught her ankle in a strong hand.

 

At the contact, Sansa shifted uncomfortably but the man only tightened his grip and moved his fist upward until it was almost at her calf and fumbling against her lace underskirts.

 

“There,” the Hound said as he slid her foot into her slipper, the warmth of his palms permeating through both the thin fabric of the footwear and her silk stocking.

 

“Thank you,” Sansa breathed in a barely audible whisper, eyes wide and staring dumbly at him.

 

His hand stayed there for a moment, tightening around her, but then Ser Boros approached and Sandor Clegane removed his fingers with the same haste as if he had been caught stealing gold from the king’s treasury. Without a word, he turned around and strode away, his white cloak lazily flowing behind him.

 

“Lady Sansa, you need to install yourself now,” Ser Boros told her while seizing her wrist and waist.

 

“I thank you,” she replied politely as she let him help her to the ground, shuddering under his clumsy and brusque touch.

 

Once she hit the earth, her mare was immediately pulled away by a young stable boy and she was led by some fancy manservant to the tablecloths farther to the side, under the shadow of a large tree. As carefully as she could, Sansa installed herself on the fabric, her courtly instinct forbidding her to appear anything but elegant and modest even when sitting on the dirt floor. Her skirt spread around her, bright and green under the sunlight, she patiently waited, as motionless as a blooming flower, for the king to begin his swaggering parade.

 

“You saw how well I rode?” the king was asking, addressing no one in particular. His Thoroughbred was shifting and snorting nervously beneath him, eager for some action but the boy had him well under control. “I was leading the rest of you, as any respectable monarch ought to with his subjects. I’ve been given a beast that equals my distinction, it seems.” Then, glancing at his cousin, he continued: “Julius, do you still believe you have even the slimmest chance of winning a race against me?” The smirk that curled Joffrey’s lips as he uttered the question was that of the spoiled boy he was.

 

“By all means, Your Grace, I’m wise enough not to pretend so much but I’m nonetheless willing to take on the challenge,” Julius replied while humbly bowing his head.

 

 _Why has the king insisted I come?_ Sansa was wondering while distractedly listening to the two cousins’ empty conversation. She was terribly hungry as it was now past the time she usually ate and had to fight the urge to peer every minute or so at the baskets of food that were settled less than a couple of yards from her. The girl didn’t dare ask for anything though; Joffrey was so easy to anger and she’d rather starve than risk stirring his temper.

 

“I wish you luck, dear cousin. You’ll need a lot of it but I’ll be honest and admit I have no hopes for you,” Joffrey was bragging playfully as he and Julius slowly prepared for the race.

 

The guards had finally finished examining the glade and as no rabbit holes or rocks had been found, everyone left its centre apart from Joffrey and his cousin.

 

Ser Meryn was standing next to the king and gazed at him expectantly.  “Tell me when you’re ready, Your Grace,” the knight asked.

 

“I am,” Joffrey answered, seizing his reins more firmly.

 

At that, Ser Meryn raised a hand high in the air and began his count. “Three, two, one and… go!” he exclaimed, lowering his arm at once.

 

In a heartbeat, both cousins departed at an impressive speed, Sansa had to admit. Almost immediately, the king overtook Julius but the other boy nevertheless kept going as fast as he could. Less than a minute later, Joffrey arrived at the other side of the glade, raising his fist in victory.

 

“I won!” he exclaimed. He was too far for Sansa to discern his features but she could divine his smirk, having beheld it so often in the past.

 

Defeated, Julius bowed low and the two boys headed back to where Sansa was at a slower pace.

 

“You’ve seen how well I ride, Sansa? Have you ever witnessed anyone as skilled as I in equine matters?”

 

“Oh no, never, Your Grace,” Sansa submissively recited.

 

“Would you like to see me race again? Perhaps Julius still has to courage to try himself against me,” Joffrey said, sweeping his eyes from Sansa to his cousin.

 

“Oh, please, Your Grace,” Sansa answered, bowing her head slightly.

 

“It would give me great honour,” Julius replied almost simultaneously.  

 

“All right then. You’ve convinced me.”

 

Once more, the two cousins headed to where Ser Meryn was standing and began preparing themselves. Sansa watched absentmindedly, annoyed at having been brought along although there was in truth no reason for her to be there. Sighing, she let her eyes rove over the glade with no purpose and stiffened when they accidently fell upon the Hound’s dark shape. The tall man was standing about ten yards from her and staring straight ahead, his scarred face set into a deep scowl. He seemed so brooding and hostile; it was hard to believe it was the same man who had so brazenly retrieved her slipper earlier. Yet, Sansa could still feel how his large hand had circled around her ankle and the memory sent her heart racing as fast as Joffrey’s Thoroughbred.

 

 _He would never have dared approach me and touch me in such an intimate manner before,_ Sansa mused, a deep flush creeping over her face and modest cleavage. She really wanted to be scandalised by Sandor Clegane’s attitude, yet she was only reminded of her own misconduct. She had indeed been the one to lure him to her bed with the promise of letting him do whatever he pleased with her if he would only help her escape from the Red Keep. Nevertheless, Sansa had believed the conditions of the deal had been made clear. She would give herself to him but _only once._ Did the Hound presume otherwise and believe that because he had taken her maidenhead, he now had some sort of twisted right to her? _He knows better than this,_ Sansa quickly retorted to herself, unwilling to consider the opposite. Sandor Clegane was, after all, a man of his word and he would surely never dare push for more than had been agreed.

 

Yet, the feel of the man’s possessive hands on her was still too fresh for the notion to be discarded that easily. _Also, the way he has been looking at me ever since that night whenever we’ve met … It often feels as if he wished he was still in bed with me,_ Sansa reflected, her stomach pulling into a tight knot.

 

So absorbed by her thoughts, the girl had not realised how fixedly she had been gazing at Sandor Clegane and hence, she was simply horrified when he suddenly jerked his head in her direction and laid his cold, dark eyes on her. Of its own accord, her mouth opened in shock but she somehow couldn’t avert her eyes as logic clearly demanded. The man seemed amused by her reaction for his scowl quickly evolved into a smirk and his eyes began shining with a mocking gleam. Apparently forgetting himself also, the Hound snorted a short laugh and the sound immediately attracted the attention of Ser Meryn as well as the nearest guards. Their stares all darted to him as if they expected an explanation but the man only glowered back and the bunch of them were all wise enough to leave it as it was and gaze elsewhere.

 

For the next hour or so afterwards, Sansa kept her eyes from the Hound and stared at the king’s faraway shape instead, pretending to be interested in the numerous tricks he attempted with his elegant new mount. In truth, her attention was completely engrossed by the dark shadow of Sandor Clegane in her peripheral vision and her heart skipped a beat anytime she grew aware that he gazed in her direction. In an effort to soothe her nerves whenever he did, Sansa breathed as steadily as she could but there was no stopping the warmth that permeated her skin. Her fair complexion was always so easy to colour that she was certain her face was nearly as red as her hair but all she could do was hope that her flush might be taken as a reaction to the bright sun. To add to her agitation, a mad fluttering was threatening to invade her belly anytime her eyes came close to meeting the Hound’s and the idea that such a repellent man could rouse sensations such as these in her did nothing to quell the confusion that overpowered her.

 

After a while, Joffrey finally jumped from his saddle and approached Sansa. “So where’s that snack I asked to be brought?” he asked while throwing his gloves on the ground beside him and letting himself fall not far from Sansa. With impressive efficiency, a manservant immediately ran behind him to retrieve the gloves as others appeared by the baskets and began emptying their contents. A small table about a foot high was swiftly installed between Sansa and the king and porcelain plates and crystal glasses were settled over it. Inside the large baskets, Sansa could glimpse sausages, cheese, apples and fresh bread and her stomach growled at the sight.

 

“Dear cousin, come take a seat,” the king told Julius. “I salute your effort in the races and can only imagine how hungry and thirsty you must be now.”

 

“I thank you for your generosity, Your Grace,” a sweaty Julius replied with a bow before installing himself with evident relief.

 

A manservant was cutting pieces of food and filling the plates with them while wine was being poured into the glasses by another and Joffrey’s attention was suddenly caught by their movement.

 

“Stop it, will you please!” he exclaimed, his face red with annoyance. Removing his hat, the king hit the nearest servant with it, causing the poor man to spill red wine all over his white shirt. “You think I’m not a real man that I can’t do it myself? This is not the court, you halfwit! My father certainly never had anyone cut his food for him when he was on a hunt.”

 

 _Why did he have all those servants come if he didn’t want their help?_ Sansa wondered angrily. The reason was probably similar to the one that had motivated him to ask her to come along.

 

Once the servants had all scurried away, Joffrey’s outburst quickly dissolved and the glade became very quiet again. Slowly and with the restraint one could expect from a lady, Sansa ate and drank, all the while listening to her _betrothed’s_ bragging with an inattentive ear. Every then and again, he asked for her opinion and she always agreed with whatever he was saying, telling him how _very talented_ he was.

 

Once their appetite had receded and the three of them had stopped eating, Sansa looked at the baskets and was shocked to see how full they still were. Far too much food had been brought for only three persons, however none of the leftovers were offered to anyone in their escort. _I wonder if the Hound is hungry,_ she mused, reflexively raising her gaze to him. As she did, Sandor Clegane instantly lowered his eyes to meet hers and Sansa gasped and jerked her head away just as fast.

 

To the girl’s distress, the king didn’t miss the interaction. “Still scared of my dog, are you?” he scoffed, laughing heartily. “He’s as mean as he looks so you should be.” Grinning with perverse satisfaction, the boy rose to his feet and wiped his greasy fingers against his fine velvet doublet. “You need to mature and harden, my lady. Dog, take her to her mount, we’re going.”

 

“As you will,” the Hound grunted with a small nod. Unenthusiastically, he walked to where Sansa was sitting and held out a hand to her. “Lady Sansa,” he uttered so flatly that anyone looking would certainly believe he was irritated at seeing his skills used so wastefully.

 

Hesitantly, the girl looked at his strong, calloused hand for an instant before raising hers and letting him grasp it. It all but disappeared in the huge palm and fingers and the rough and warm contact of his skin similarly overwhelmed her senses, sending shivers all over her body.

 

“I thank you,” she murmured, eyes demurely lowered as the man pulled her to her feet. Furtively, she glanced by her side and saw that the king and his cousin had already gone to retrieve their horses.

 

“Seems like I need to escort you. Come, girl. _King’s order_ ,” Sandor Clegane rasped wryly, releasing her hand to seize her upper arm instead.

 

Sansa only nodded, her eyes cast down. Their proximity was disconcerting to her and somehow rendered her speechless and nervous. As he led her to her mare, the Hound kept his gaze on her, shamelessly studying her but she didn’t dare meet his eyes. They were so near; Sansa could smell his scent from where she was. _No! Think of something else!_ she was imploring herself as unchaste images suddenly began sprouting in her mind. Still, the man’s musky odour and the memory of their recent coupling were too intertwined for her to succeed and the realisation was simply mortifying.

 

“Little bird,” Sandor Clegane muttered when they arrived next to Sansa’s mare at last. Even before she had a chance to reply, the man released her arm and circled her waist from behind with both hands. “I need to talk to you,” he whispered in her hair as he lifted her from the ground and settled her into the saddle. “I’ll come to your chamber, late tonight.”

 

At that, Sansa’s breath caught in her throat but she nonetheless managed to turn and give him a small nod.

 

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, the man finally removed his hands from her waist and tilted his head slightly to the side – eyes narrowed and lips curled into a smirk. “Now go join those two lads and be a good girl, will you?” he told her in an undertone before swatting her mare’s flank.

 

The beast began moving and Sansa watched the Hound as he headed for his own mount. _Tonight… he’ll come to my chamber,_ she repeated to herself, turning her head around to look before her instead. She had hoped for some tidings from him for days now but somehow the idea that she’d be alone with him in the very place _it_ had all happened made her _extremely_ nervous…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attention everyone! This is the last chapter before the last one. So in other words, they’ll be an eighth chapter and then after, it’ll be done with this story.
> 
> For now though, I hope you’ll enjoy this one! :)

**Sandor**

_This is bloody ridiculous,_ Sandor mused as he began stroking the soapy, wet towel over his bare chest but even as the objection reached his mind, he absurdly kept going. He wanted to sneer at the uselessness of his action and yet all that came out of his mouth was an exasperated sigh. _You stupid dog_ , he reflected bitterly, rubbing harder. _You’re really losing it._

 

In a few minutes, Sandor would be heading for the little bird’s chamber and for some reason, he had gathered that changing his tunic and ridding himself of the day’s sweat was a good idea. _As if…_ he thought wryly. He knew well enough naught would happen and that the poor girl was most likely totally horrified at the prospect of receiving his visit in the privacy of her chamber but he nonetheless couldn’t refrain from harbouring some measure of vain hope. She had after all been warmer than he would have expected when he’d plucked her _little flower_.

 

The memory of that night was still so fresh and he had pretty much continuously replayed the sequence in his mind – over and over again - since it had taken place. The proposition had come as a total surprise. Never even in his most depraved fantasies would Sandor have dared dream that this shy and proper girl might one day willingly offer herself to him. Although there was no questioning that she had done so solely because she so desperately needed his help, the notion that the little bird had come up with such an idea was still mesmerising to him. _There’s nothing to it._ _If you hadn’t been the only buggering choice she had, the girl would have gone to someone else as surely as you’re a hideous fuck,_ Sandor reminded himself. Still, the fact was that he had been the bloody _chosen one_ and he would never have refused her, of course. From the very instant he had understood where she was trying to go with her sweet and hesitant chirping, he had been as hard as a rock and ready to take her. It was a bloody miracle he hadn’t torn her dress and spread her legs in the corridor by her chamber but Sandor had somehow resisted the temptation and waited until they were safely in her room. The little bird’s room: that was a nice place to be, well hidden in the warmth of her cunt. And that was exactly where he was about to head. Although, minus the cunt and that was a fucking pity.

 

As was to be expected, she had been terribly timid - _terrified_ _even_ \- at the prospect of what was waiting for her. Still Sandor had been desperately aroused by each of her maidenly reactions, however nervous and intimidated the poor girl had seemed. It was queer how context could change things and make the very manners that usually utterly annoyed him suddenly become extremely enticing. For all that he usually couldn’t bear her inability to gaze at him for longer than a glance or the excessive shyness that often paralysed her when he was by her side, it had all seemed very fetching and stirring when he had been about to bed her.

 

The idea of being her first man had also been infinitely intoxicating to Sandor. Prior to meeting her, he had never been particularly interested in maidens but the truth was the little bird had always been different in his eyes and compelled him to act and think in ways he normally wouldn’t have. Thereby, it was really not surprising that deflowering her had appealed to him so much. Furthermore, as the girl had left such a strong impression on him already, it was only natural that Sandor wished to mark her just as firmly. A female never forgot the man who broke her maidenhead and made her a woman after all.

 

The little bird’s bare body had been as fresh and beautiful as a newborn flower, white, pink and red… She had been a feast for the eyes and he had been ready to devour her as soon as her clothes were out of the way… and even before. Sandor snorted at the thought. He had always been ready to devour her and the girl had certainly sensed it, or she would never have approached him of all people. Still, he couldn’t regret having been so bloody obvious in his desire for her as it was exactly what had brought about his stroke of good luck.

 

Her small, shivery body had been wonderful under his touch. There was no denying he was inadequate at handling such perfection though. Sandor had felt as if he was laying hands on a richer man’s treasure from the moment she was at his mercy but somehow, he had not cared one bit and only yearned to take _everything_ he could from her. A dog very rarely got a chance as good as this one and dogs never turned their muzzles up at such a juicy treat. The little bird’s motive had not mattered; all the man had cared for was that she would let him claim her and that no objection would be uttered from those pretty lips of hers as he made her his for the space of the night.

 

Surprisingly, she had been as supple as clay under his hands and when he had slid his fingers between her thighs, Sandor had even sensed some wetness there. Could she really have been...? But no, it was only his deviant mind playing tricks on him. He was no expert in women’s anatomy to draw conclusions like that anyhow.

 

Still, she had moaned and writhed under him in a manner that had almost made him believe at some moments that she genuinely enjoyed herself. Most of all though – and that had obsessed him ever since - _she_ had kissed him.

 

Reluctant to force something so vile on her, Sandor hadn’t even considered tasting her mouth albeit she incontestably had a delicious-looking one. Therefore, he had been _completely_ taken aback when for no apparent reason she had grasped his shoulders and pressed her plump lips against his. Never in his life had his mouth met anything as soft and tender and it was a damned pity the girl had remembered all too soon who was truly fucking her and removed her lips from his. He’d have eaten them all night long if she’d have only allowed him to.

 

It had been a question of seconds before Sandor’s climax overtook him after that and he had had to leave the perfection of her cunt to spill himself on his stomach. _Too bad I couldn’t come in her._ For an instant, the man had wondered if the little bird would truly know the difference, innocent as she was, but the usually irrelevant part of him that wasn’t as uncaring and brutish as the rest had prevailed and stopped him from doing so. It wasn’t like Sandor to care for the fate of the women he bedded but for some reason he still couldn’t fathom, he had not wanted to do her more harm than he had already. Yet now that he was alone in his chamber, what bloody good did it do him? _None,_ of course.

 

And he would never get to fuck her again. _I should’ve asked for more,_ Sandor thought regretfully for the hundredth time. Helpless and desperate as she was, the little bird wouldn’t have refused him if he had demanded, let’s say, to be her bedmate until she left or something similar, of that he was damned certain. It wasn’t as if he could soil her further after all, so what more would she have had to lose? _You stupid dog! You’ve been so damned blinded by the prospect of getting between the girl’s legs that you haven’t even considered taking advantage of the situation!_ It was laughable and a fucking pity.

 

 _Well, there’s no use regretting the past,_ Sandor reflected with a total lack of conviction while tossing his towel into the water basin. Once he had pulled a clean tunic over his head, the man combed his hair over his burns – for what the effort was worth – and looked himself over one last time in the mirror. After all these years, he had grown used to his own reflection but he could guess all too well how hideous he might look to a young _maiden’_ s eyes. _A maiden,_ he reflected, sniggering wryly. The little bird’s maidenhead was now no more than a stain on his Kingsguard cloak. At least Sandor had the knowledge that no other bugger - no matter how well born and bred - would ever get the chance to tear that precious piece of flesh again to assuage some of his bitterness.

 

 _Seven Hells! Am I a fucking weakling to complain so?_ Sighing exasperatedly, Sandor seized the bundle he had prepared earlier and stormed out of his room. The sooner he was done with the damned meeting, the better it would be.

 

That afternoon, Joffrey had asked for the little bird to follow him as he was to try his new Thoroughbred horse and of course she had complied as she had no other buggering choice. Sandor had been glad to see her, as always, but most of all he had been relieved when he realised the lad was in no mood to torment her. After all these years, he had learned to read the boy and had known naught would happen from the moment they left the castle. Nonetheless, he had only been able to truly relax once the best part of the afternoon had passed.

 

Under the bright sun, the little bird had been more beautiful than ever and he had hardly been able to take his eyes from her. She was a real goddess and it was a fucking wonder Joffrey could only see her as another pet he could torture. Mayhap he was only too young to realise what he had or there was the possibility that he was… the _same_ as his uncle Renly. Still, whichever reason explained his lack of real interest in the girl, it was all for the best, for Sandor didn’t even want to start conjuring what sort of afflictions she would have had to go through otherwise. Her life had been made hard enough as it was.

 

As Sandor approached the Serpentine stairs, the badly lit and leaking corridors of the area containing his quarters shortly gave way to sumptuous large alleys and queerly, his pulse simultaneously became faster. The realisation of his unbidden reaction instantly irritated him and his mouth twitched in protest but there was naught he could do about it. _Since when has any bloody female made you react in any way that didn’t have to do with your cock?_ Sandor chided himself. It was all the more infuriating that she was only half a woman, still so young and innocent and only partly aware of the power she held over him. _Although, you did fuck her and she was woman enough for that, wasn’t she?_

Images of the little bird’s perfect pale skin glowing under the afternoon sunlight and her glorious red locks flying over her delicate shoulders flashed through Sandor’s mind then and it did nothing to quell him. Her deep blue eyes had met his on a few occasions but there was no questioning that she had only looked his way in reaction to his intense scrutiny. After all, she had always seemed appalled and averted her stare _at once_ anytime their gazes had locked these last few days and there was no wondering why. For as much as he wished otherwise, he couldn’t blame her for not sharing his lust.

 

Soon, the little bird’s door was in his sight and with every step he took, Sandor slowed his pace until he had halted completely and was standing on the threshold, as motionless as the old stone walls that surrounded him. He could already foresee the terror that would shine in the girl’s eyes when she saw him and the prospect unexpectedly filled him with misgivings. Exhaling violently and rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it, Sandor chased the feeling away, raised his fist and knocked on the door. Soft steps were immediately heard, shortly followed by the sound of a bolt being moved.

 

“Who is it?” the little bird asked, abruptly pausing in her movement, as if she had only just remembered she shouldn’t open for anyone.

 

“It’s me,” Sandor answered, his voice rough and grating to his ears.

 

At that, the bolt was pushed until it dropped and the door opened very slightly. The little bird’s face appeared in the slit, eyes wide and fine features as tense as Sandor had predicted.

 

For the space of a few heartbeats, she stared at him and they both stayed silent, gazes locked, but then Sandor felt his eyes narrow and his lips set into a severe frown. “Let me in,” he ordered harshly even as he realised how little it helped his cause.

 

“Oh! I’m sorry,” the girl replied, seemingly shamed by her misconduct. Hurriedly, she opened the door and made way for him.

 

Without further delay, Sandor entered and pushed the door shut behind him. His nostrils were immediately assailed by the little bird’s delicate scent and delectable memories overwhelmed him. Grunting in delight, he let his stare travel over the chamber where _it_ had all taken place but when it fell over the girl, she was all but cowering in a corner of the room, her bearing reminding him of the hopelessness of it all. Still, the awareness didn’t calm Sandor’s hunger and he sighed in exasperation as he felt his cock stir in his breeches.

 

In an effort to fight his primal reaction, the man stiffened his stance and deepened his scowl.  “I’m sure you want to know why I’m here, am I right?” he asked more brusquely than he had intended.

 

“Yes,” the girl answered so softly he had to prick up his ears to hear her correctly. “Please tell me.”

 

 _Always so fucking polite_ , Sandor mused with annoyance while gazing at her perfect pink lips. They were so round and smooth; he ached to bite into them, to grasp her by the waist and yank her to him. Afterwards, he would lift her skirts and take her again and again all through the night - not stopping until the sun bled in the morning sky - and then if he still had the strength, he’d probably even have her one last time before he left. _I should’ve asked for more,_ he regretted once more, feeling his features tightening in outrage at his unforgivable lack of forethought.

 

“Well, I’ve got you a cabin and the ship is leaving in four days at first light,” he started, eager not to dwell on his mistake an instant longer.

 

At that, the little bird’s beautiful face lit and a huge grin curled her lips. “Really?” she cried, obviously overcome with joy.

 

Sandor was slightly taken aback by the strength of her reaction. He had never seen her look so blissful and the awareness that he was the cause of such a show of felicity somehow enlivened his cold heart. In the heat of the moment, the girl took a couple of steps toward him but then, she seemed to remember who she was with and halted at once.

 

Mastering herself, she lowered her eyes to the ground for an instant and when she gazed at him again, her grin had decreased to one of the more customary courtly smiles she often wore. “I’m so grateful to you. I… I’m indebted-”

 

Sandor snorted. _I know a few ways you could pay me back,_ he thought but instead of telling her that, he heard himself spit, “I’ve done nothing more than what was agreed. No need to be _thankful_ , girl.” That was another wasted opportunity, he realised all too late and his mouth twitched at the recognition.

 

Despite the harshness of his response, the little bird’s smile became all the more genuine and lovely as she heard his words and Sandor momentarily ceased regretting his lack of perspicacity. Well, almost.

 

“Nevertheless, I’m grateful for your help, no matter what you say,” the girl replied in an uncommon mixture of shyness and assurance.

 

She was gazing at him, face glowing with so much happiness that Sandor was nearly compelled to smile back at her but he thankfully spoke before it had a chance of happening. “Don’t celebrate too soon, girl. The bloody fight’s not won yet. There are _hundreds_ of ways this could all go wrong and both our heads might very well adorn the Keep’s battements before the ship leaves the city.”

 

At his harsh words, the little bird lost her smile and took a step back from him and Sandor cursed himself for it.

 

“Four nights from now, I’ll come here and fetch you,” he continued. “Prepare your plainest and warmest clothes and wait for me. I should be there about an hour or two before dawn, no more. There’d be no point in bringing you to the ship too soon and increasing the chances that you’re absence will be noticed.”

 

“Of course,” she agreed, eyes once more demurely lowered.

 

Irritated at seeing her retreat to her accustomed attitude with him, Sandor felt his jaw set tightly and grunted in dissatisfaction. At the sound, the girl glanced in his direction and for some reason, her eyes darted down to his chest and grew wide, before flying away, her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink.

 

Puzzled, Sandor peered down and realised he had not taken care to lace his tunic closed before leaving his chamber. As he noticed what had unnerved her so, his mouth pulled into a half-smirk and he snorted with unhidden mirth.

 

“Oh, don’t play the prude with me, little bird. We both know you’ve already seen far worst than the hair of my chest, don’t we?”

 

At his insinuation, the girl gasped and lowered her eyes to the floor. Sandor let out a deep sigh. She was so easy to taunt and while it had once amused him to see her tremble at a word from him, it now annoyed him more than anything else.

 

“By the Seven Hells, girl! Stop staring at the ground! I’m not going to strip down and show you my cock to refresh your memory. I’m sure you remember it all too well as it is,” the man hissed, fighting to keep the bitterness from his voice and failing miserably.

 

“Oh… I didn’t-”

 

“Hush! I don’t need to hear your buggering empty excuses.” Irked by both his and her reaction, Sandor now had but one idea in mind: get the hells out of there. Yet, there was still one matter he needed to deal with before he left. “Here girl. Take this,” he rasped once he had regained some of his cool, handling her the bundle he had brought.

 

As carefully as if he was giving her some _precious_ present, the little bird took the thing from his hands.

 

Seeing how curious she seemed, he explained; “It’s the gold I got for those jewels you gave me. I didn’t sell all of them though. Since I didn’t want to risk any of it being recognised by some lady from court, I had to go to the most questionable shop there is in town - one that only thugs ever chance setting foot in, if you see what I mean. I couldn’t get a proper price of course and thus, I only sold what was strictly necessary. If you ever need more gold, you’ll probably get a better rate in WhiteHarbour anyhow.”

 

“That’s very kind of you,” the little bird answered, looking at the bundle in her hands. It was in the same scarf she had given him and she was caressing the fabric as if it was some long lost _treasure_.

 

Snorting at her pretty words, Sandor shook his head and strolled toward the door. “You can’t stop yourself from chirping, can you? Hopefully the folks in WhiteHarbour will appreciate the sound of your songs, unlike those around here.”

 

Just as he was about to open the door, the man turned around one last time and gazed at her. “Remember to be ready when I come four days from now and until then, be as low profile as you can. Understood?”

 

At that, the girl nodded as stiffly as a child that has just been scolded and Sandor slammed the door behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter already! To all of those who have followed this story: thank you! I hope you have enjoyed the ride and also, that the ending will be to your liking.

**Sansa**

The night was slowly approaching its end but Sansa had still not heard a word from the Hound. Nevertheless, she was not overly worried yet; the man had told her that he preferred leaving only slightly before dawn as he believed a last minute escape had more chance of succeeding. There was no denying though that Sansa felt increasingly nervous. Her stomach was pulled into a tight knot and she kept sweeping her gaze across her room as if she was searching for something while in truth, she simply didn’t know what to do with herself. While she had been agitated since the previous evening, her state had considerably worsened through the long sleepless hours of the night. For an eternity it had seemed she had rolled between her covers, growing more restless with every breath she took until she decided she had had enough and rose from her featherbed to prepare herself in the dark of the night. With such an early start, Sansa was left with naught to do and thus, installed in a large cushioned chair with her warmest cloak wrapped around her, she bided her time, shivering in anticipation and feeling more useless than ever.

 

The wait was made even more agonizing because morbid curiosity compelled Sansa to try to figure out every single manner in which her escape could go wrong - and there were _millions_ evidently. Her dark exploration was far from over and it was with a bustling energy in complete opposition to the physical exhaustion she felt that her mind kept rolling faster and faster, seemingly adamant about exploring its darkest and most hidden recesses.

 

 _And what if Sandor Clegane has played a cruel joke on me? What if he never comes and just laughs at me when he sees me next?_ Sansa wondered not for the first time, a sudden chill going down her spine. _No, he wouldn’t do something like that,_ she hurriedly countered. After all, the Hound hated liars more than anything else. Besides, he had already sold some of her jewels and given her the gold he received in exchange when he last went to her chamber. Why would he waste his time wandering across town if he didn’t genuinely mean to help her out of the Red Keep and lead her to the _Travelling Titan_? It would make no sense.

 

Sandor Clegane had used the same scarf she had to carry her gold and remaining jewels and Sansa had been slightly taken aback when she opened the bundle after he left. Out of all her earrings, necklaces, rings and bracelets, he had sold only those she had been given by the king and queen while leaving her the jewellery she’d already had before stepping foot in King’s Landing. Could he really have noticed and remembered precisely what she had worn while they travelled to the capital? That was hard to believe coming from such a brutish and unsophisticated man. Yet the idea that it might be so brought a smile to Sansa’s lips and warmed her heart anytime it touched her mind. As she clasped a necklace around her neck and slid on a pair of discreet earrings a few hours before, she had even thought of the Hound instead of the loving parents from whom the jewellery had been given, as if they were his presents and not theirs.

 

Holding the stone pendant in her fist, Sansa felt her lips curl into a shy smile and let herself be imbued for a few heartbeats by the queer fluttering that so often assailed her belly lately but then, she abruptly stood from her chair and shook herself. There was no reason to feel anything but thankfulness for Sandor Clegane and yet it was getting harder every day to ignore the warmth that flowed through her body whenever she thought of him. The mere memory of the intensity of his stare whenever he set it on her and of the feel of his touch was enough to make her blush furiously. _His hand on my ankle that time in the glade, at once firm and gentle… and the way he gazed at me…_ Sansa mused, just as far less appropriate images began sprouting in her mind. Her cheeks burning like wildfire, the girl frowned and shook her head in an attempt to chase it all away. The man occupied a far too important part of her daydreams of late and this would have to stop very soon. While for now her _interest_ in him was partly excusable by the fact that she depended so much on him and that he would help her fulfil her greatest wish, finding more befitting subjects to fill her reveries would be crucial once she left the capital.

 

Sighing, Sansa tried to ignore the pang she felt at the idea and walked to her window to look outside. The night sky was still very dark but a faint pinkish hue could be discerned at the outermost eastward horizon. _What is the Hound doing?_ she wondered once more, turning her head to glance at the door as if he could appear on the threshold on cue.

 

The other day, Sandor Clegane had gone from her chamber in a foul mood and Sansa was torn as to how she should feel about it. _It seems to me as if he always leaves me in similar dispositions, as if he couldn’t stand me…_ It was strange considering that the man was always the one who sought her and that his desire for her was now _incontestable_. Paradoxically, it was the knowledge of that lust that had triggered Sansa’s nervousness as she waited for his visit. What if he wanted more from her and threatened that unless she undressed and let him do as he willed with her, she could forget about his help? And what if he forced himself on her, no matter what she answered? Thankfully, Sansa’s forebodings had soon been proved wrong; Sandor Clegane had not seemed interested in her at all to say the truth. The man had obviously solely come to tell her about the good news of her upcoming escape and give her the few instructions she would need to follow in preparation.

 

From that moment, Sansa had been overjoyed and had hardly been able to stop herself from grinning like a fool but for some reason she couldn’t conjure, Sandor Clegane had appeared annoyed by her happiness and grown harsher by the instant. Worst of all, he had even gone as far as to choose to remind her of … _the intimacy_ they had shared in the crudest manner possible.

 

The very recollection of the words he had used still made her flush in shame and frown in frustration both. _It’s in his nature to be_ _coarse. Despite that, he’s not a bad man,_ she quickly justified, forgiving him his outburst just as soon while caressing her pendant between her fingers. Still, she was at a total loss when it came to understanding him and the awareness left her more dejected than logic commanded. It seemed anytime she was starting to feel slightly more at ease with him, he did something to cow her; it was highly confusing and-”

 

 _Knock! Knock!_ “Little bird, you’re awake?” a raspy voice was heard from behind the door.

 

At the sound, Sansa jumped and gasped. That she hadn’t heard the footsteps of such a large man was somewhat surprising but it was true she had been deeply absorbed by her reflections. “Yes, my lord. I am,” she replied, striding to the door and feeling her pulse quicken.

 

Once it was open, the Hound entered the room as abruptly as a burst of air and began looking around him as if inspecting the place. He was wearing light armour of hard leather and chainmail with his olive green cloak draped over his shoulders and his longsword sheathed at his hip. From the moment she saw him, Sansa’s already taut frame became even tenser and yet, she couldn’t avert her eyes and kept following his every movement.

 

“These are your things?” he asked, nodding at where Sansa’s satchel lay on the featherbed. Before she had a chance of acquiescing, the man grabbed it and put it under his arm. “No time to waste, little bird. Let’s go,” he urged, settling a strong hand on her shoulder.

 

Her heart threatening to burst out of her chest, Sansa walked out of her chamber. Furtively, she gazed one last time behind her and sighed in relief as she saw Sandor Clegane shut the door on that gods-forsaken place. The golden cage the Lannisters had kept her in for so long would become naught but a bad memory from now on.

 

“Let’s hope your handmaidens have a lie-in this morning,” the Hound muttered as they began to move down the stairs.

 

At that, Sansa let out a short, nervous laugh. “They never wake me so early, my lord.”

 

“Good,” he grunted, grasping her hood and raising it over her head. The gesture was innocent enough, nevertheless it brought a deep blush to Sansa’s cheeks and the girl was thankful for the cover the garment offered.

 

Descending ever faster, they continued down the stairs until they finally reached the floor. The long corridor before them was dark and gloomy – lit only by some dim candles hung very sparsely on its walls - and Sansa was glad for Sandor Clegane’s presence behind her. There was no questioning that she would never have managed to escape by herself. Even with him, she was terrified. The keep was always so murky at night and yet it was made even worse that a guard could be hidden in every shadow she saw, ready to denounce them to the king. _The Hound won’t let anyone stop us,_ she reassured herself. He was dressed for battle after all. Did he believe he would need to use his blade?

 

Another alley was now visible some distance before them and as they strode steadily toward it, the bright light of a faraway lantern abruptly glared - illuminating the floor almost to their feet. At the sight, Sansa jumped and took a step backward, certain that disaster was about to unfold. An eye blink later though, they were once more swallowed by darkness, the walker having apparently continued straight ahead without noticing their presence. Trembling, Sansa stayed in place, unable to move for a few seconds.

 

“Some lowly servant or guard stuck with the graveyard shift, most likely. We’ll meet others. Be prepared,” the Hound whispered.

 

Sansa nodded at hearing his warning, only now realising how her back was pressed flush against his torso. Although heat immediately rushed to her face, the girl couldn’t deny that the contact with his solid body had a soothing effect on her. Still, they couldn’t stay like that, in the middle of the corridor forever and so she began walking again, shortly followed by the Hound.

 

“This way,” Sandor Clegane told her, his hand circling her upper arm, when they arrived at the intersection.

 

As they took the new, smaller corridor, a thought suddenly struck Sansa. “My lord,” she whispered, slowing her pace and turning around to lay worried eyes on him. “What should we do if we meet someone again?”

 

“Hide in a dark corner,” the Hound replied, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “Or if the bugger sees us, _kill him_.”

 

Sansa gasped at his proposition, eyes grown wide with dread. “And what if it’s a woman?” she asked, halting completely.

 

Apparently as amused as he was exasperated, Sandor Clegane exhaled deeply. “Kill _her_. It’s all the same buggering thing, girl. I told you before, remember?” he explained in an undertone, approaching her face with his. “If you keep quiet though, mayhap we won’t get caught and my sword will stay in its sheath. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, little bird? Hush then.”

 

From then on, they walked side by side in total silence, their bodies brushing almost constantly and the man’s hand often settling over the back of Sansa’s shoulder or arm to guide her when they changed direction. They were taking a path she had never used before, one that was unquestionably longer but also apparently not frequented at all at this hour and the girl was infinitely grateful for the Hound’s knowledge of the castle’s warrens.

 

For hours it seemed, they wandered through endless mazes, parts of which were so dark that Sansa could barely see where she was setting her feet while others were so narrow that she could have easily touched both walls by spreading her arms. Thereby, she was simply astounded when one of those forgotten passages unexpectedly merged into a long and large alley with a high engraved wooden ceiling and walls covered with ancient tapestries displaying epic battle scenes.

 

“The stables are not too far now. Once we’ve crossed this one, we’ll be there,” Sandor Clegane murmured as they began making their way through the new, much more airy corridor. “We’ve been lucky not to meet anyone. Yet.”

 

For a couple of minutes, they walked in an eerie silence only disturbed by the sound of their boots rubbing against the ceramic floor. All around, warriors and heroes of other eras glared at them from their eternal poses, seemingly displeased at being prisoners of the threads from which they were made. Soon though, the echo of footsteps coming from the opposite direction reached their ears.

 

“Fuck,” the Hound muttered under his breath. For a nerve-racking instant, he swept his stare around him but then, his eyes fell over a dark slit visible under an old tapestry hanging about ten yards before them. “This way,” he said, seizing Sansa’s upper arm so tightly that she almost cried out.

 

At the pace he flew, Sandor Clegane all but dragged her behind him, still Sansa managed to follow him without tripping and they shortly reached the hollow he had spied. Wasting no time, the man promptly pulled over the dusty tapestry and uncovered an alcove in which brooms, brushes and other cleaning supplies where stocked. They both entered at once but as they blindly made their way inside, a few brooms lost their balance and fell onto the floor, the noise reverberating loudly all across the alley.

 

“Seven Hells,” the Hound hissed between gritted teeth, his annoyance plain.

 

“Who’s there?” a booming voice demanded, coming from the other side of the corridor. _It’s Ser Meryn!_ Sansa realised, panic-stricken and trembling all over.

 

Despite the darkness of the alcove, Sansa could discern Sandor Clegane’s imposing shape looming next to her, motionless as a great sculpture. She watched him for the space of a seemingly eternal second and was nearly startled when his head turned toward her, a queer gleam passing through his eyes.

 

“Come here, little bird,” the Hound rasped almost threateningly while grabbing her by the waist. Confused, Sansa squirmed in his hold but the man didn’t appear bothered at all by her reaction, for he yanked her to him and lifted her against the wall, pressing some of his weight onto her to keep her pinned well in place.

 

“We’d best look as if we were up to something,” he breathed in her ear, plunging his face into her hair.

 

Unbidden, a yelp escaped Sansa’s lips. She had not anticipated his move at all, nevertheless as his plan became clear, she raised her arms and laid them over Sandor Clegane’s robust shoulders, her heart hammering madly in her chest.

 

“Mmmm, you smell sweet, little bird,” the man murmured as calmly as if they had been alone in a chamber with all the time in the world before them.

 

Disconcerted, Sansa’s eyes went wide. _How can he think of such things when we are going to face Ser Meryn at any instant now?_ she wondered, slightly indignant - but then, he did something even worse. Mouth slightly open, the Hound pressed his lips against her neck and let his tongue trail lazily over the soft skin he found there. At the feel of it, Sansa’s breath caught in her throat, however her attention was quickly pulled back to Ser Meryn’s movement in the corridor. She could hear his steps getting increasingly close and her body tensed at the awareness, so much so that she was certain she would break into pieces if she fell onto the floor.

 

Her fear didn’t go unnoticed by Sandor Clegane. “Shhh, little bird. Keep calm,” he gently whispered, lips moving against her flesh.

 

Sansa shut her eyes, adamant about at least trying to heed his words but her efforts were shortly distracted by his hands going down to her backside to cup her cheeks firmly. Although she gasped very audibly, the Hound didn’t seem to care in the least and lowered his palms even more until he was circling her thighs and raising them over his hips. Sansa was completely abashed that he would put her in such a position, and yet she was well aware that if they were to play lovers in need of privacy, she had better look the part. With that in mind, she closed her legs around his hips and arched into him, all the while feeling her face burn so hot, she was sure the man could sense it. Satisfied with her new position, the Hound brought his hands back under her bottom – fondling it through the fabric of her dress – but less than a second later, the brusque sound of heavy fabric being moved was heard.

 

In a heartbeat, their little alcove became filled with the orange light of a lantern and just as soon, Sandor Clegane raised a hand from Sansa’s behind to lay it over her head, pushing it into the crook of his neck as if he feared she might otherwise turn and reveal herself.

 

“What the hells is that?” Ser Meryn asked, obviously taken aback at finding one of his Kingsguard brothers in such a position.

 

The Hound snorted. “What the fuck does it look like to you, Meryn?”

 

The other man started snickering with unhidden contempt. “Are you a squire to take your whores in the dark corners of the keep? Don’t you have a room of your own to do your dirty deed in, Clegane?”

 

“I don’t see any buggering reason why I should fuck solely in my bedchamber. I love taking my pleasure anywhere and a dusty cupboard full of brooms is as good a place as any other, if you ask me. Don’t you agree, you…ah… _woman_?” the Hound grunted while brusquely grasping Sansa’s behind.

 

At that, the girl squeaked but she was too petrified to utter a word. Did Sandor Clegane _really_ expect her to answer?

 

Thankfully, Ser Meryn spoke before she had a chance of opening her lips. “I don’t want to know what you need _to get it up_ , Clegane,” he spat in a disgusted tone. “You sick bastard, I’m going,”

 

The light became less bright and Sansa could hear the tapestry being pushed back. She was about to sigh in relief when the knight stopped in his movement and abruptly pulled it open again.

 

“Hey wait! I know that dress. And that hair!”

 

In an eye blink, the Hound dropped her and took a step toward Ser Meryn. Sansa fell onto the floor – seeing stars at the impact – and jerked her head just in time to glimpse the tapestry fall in place, leaving her in utter darkness. Outside, she could hear the sound of swords being unsheathed and of something metallic rolling over the ground. In total panic, she advanced toward the alley on all fours, stumbling against fallen brooms on her way and struggling to push them aside.

 

“I’m surprised, Clegane. The little wolf-bitch? Is the city so cruelly lacking in quality cunts that you need to bed the king’s own betrothed?” Meryn exclaimed with evident astonishment, before laughing heartily.

 

“Didn’t you just tell me you didn’t care to learn about my buggering fancies?” the Hound growled.

 

Then, the clatter of steel meeting resounded, followed by the hissing of blades grating.

 

“Well, as long as your cock doesn’t interfere with the realm’s political matters, that is. Your choice of _partner_ changes everything, Clegane. I’m sure every member of the small council will agree with me, tomorrow morning when they learn that you’ve got yourself a new room in the black cells.”

 

Having finally passed over the brooms, Sansa nervously seized the thick fabric of the tapestry and opened it very slightly – too frightened of what she might behold - before sneezing at the dust.

 

“Pffft, no chance of that,” the Hound snarled.

 

Both men were facing each other and turning around an imaginary pivot as they exchanged blows. Behind them, Sansa noticed that Ser Meryn’s lantern had rolled to the wall and was now resting against a large tapestry, thick black smoke emanating from its shattered body.

 

 _Fire!_ Sansa thought, her heart jumping into her throat as she saw the old fabric begin to blaze.

 

“Oh, don’t get too confident, dog. Either I make you a prisoner, or I kill you,” Ser Meryn hissed.

 

Their blades were now kissing and for an instant, they both stood in a nearly motionless contest of strength but then the Hound pushed hard enough that the knight lost his balance. Her lips parting in a grin, Sansa cheered inwardly yet in the same instant, Ser Meryn somehow managed to regain his feet and thrust at his opponent, hitting him over the arm.

 

“No!” Sansa cried aloud. Thankfully, the Hound didn’t seem half as disturbed as she was and took a step backward before attempting another attack.

 

Behind them, the flames were getting higher by the second, engulfing the work of art from which they had been born while reflecting off both men’s swords in blinding flashes of orange and yellow.

 

“Didn’t think you loved them so young and highborn. What did the little slut do to you that you’re willing to risk so much?” Ser Meryn asked with the same smug tone, although a little less energetically than previously.

 

“Shut up, you bugger!” the Hound answered, panting.

 

Then, they both increased their speed and became a blur of steel, armour and leather. Sansa had never been so anxious of all her life; she was breathing so fast and her pulse was pumping with so much force that she was nearly made deaf by the sound of her own body. What if Sandor Clegane lost and she was dragged before the Iron Throne to be judged for her treason? And what if Ser Meryn pushed the Hound into the fire and he died burnt to ashes as was probably his greatest fear? Sansa couldn’t stand to look at their struggle any longer and thus, she lowered her head against her joined hands and began praying. _Mother full of mercy, please! Let Sandor Clegane win this fight. Let him save me. Give him the force to-_

The sound of a man moaning loudly abruptly interrupted Sansa’s pleading to the gods.

 

Terrified of what she would see, the girl turned her head and was instantly relieved when she set eyes on Ser Meryn falling to the ground, his head almost severed from his body. Hurriedly, she stood up and ran clumsily to the Hound. The smoke was thicker at this height and so she began coughing all the while gazing in horror at the fire. Its tall and hungry flames had now reached yet another tapestry and were roaring very loudly, licking the wall almost to the ceiling.

 

“Are you hurt? Did he wound you?” Sansa asked frantically, grasping Sandor Clegane by the arm.

 

“I’m fine,” the man answered, catching his breath while coldly staring at his dying foe. His upper arm was bleeding but it didn’t seem too bad. “We need to go now. Where are your things?”

 

At a loss for an instant, Sansa remembered. “They must be in the alcove.”

 

Nodding, the man crouched and wiped his blade against Ser Meryn’s white cloak. “Start running, I’ll get your satchel and catch up with you in a few seconds.”

 

Over the sound of the fire, she could barely make out his words but she exchanged a look with him and gave him a nervous little smile. Seizing her skirts, Sansa then began sprinting towards the stables, only now noticing how her backside hurt after her fall in the alcove. Still, she didn’t care. All she could think about was that her escape was not over yet and that if the gods were not on their side in this, they might both very well be dead before the sun was up.

 

“Fire!” Sansa heard, coming from far behind her. “Fire!”

 

People were rushing into the alley to extinguish the flames already. Would they intercept the Hound? Had they already? Just as she was starting to truly worry, she felt the man’s hand on her shoulder.

 

“Faster!” he urged her.

 

She tried to obey but wasn’t able. Still, they shortly arrived at a large wooden door. Sandor Clegane kicked it open and they both stormed into the stables.

 

“This way!” he directed, grasping Sansa’s arm and dragging her behind him.

 

The stables were dark and quiet at this hour and the only source of light was that of a faraway lantern. The Hound knew his way and despite the gloom, they soon reached a box where a huge black war stallion was anxiously waiting for them, already saddled and ready to leave.

 

As Sandor Clegane checked that naught was amiss, the dim light became suddenly brighter and the man swiftly turned toward it, obviously relieved when he saw a sleepy looking stable boy standing at some distance – lantern in hand - seemingly utterly puzzled at being disturbed in the middle of his sleep.

 

“Go back to your pillow, boy. We don’t need you,” the Hound snapped even before he had a chance to say a single word.

 

Obedient, the boy immediately left, giving them a few questioning backward glances.

 

“Come,” Sandor Clegane told Sansa once he had stashed her satchel in his saddlebag.

 

The girl let him circle her waist and he settled her sideways in the saddle. A moment later, he had jumped behind her and the horse was moving out of his box.

 

“We’ve only one door to pass. It’ll be guarded of course, so we’d best look relaxed and cozy,” the man whispered, himself not sounding calm at all.

 

Yet, Sansa understood and pulled her hood over her head as much as she could - taking care to hide her hair this time around - and brought her arms around the Hound’s large torso.

 

“Oh,” she breathed, when she noticed the drops of blood that were splattered over his cheeks and chin. “Your face…” Without asking, she gathered some of her cloak in her fist and began wiping the blood away.

 

The Hound didn’t complain and let her do it, all the while gazing down at her with narrowed eyes and bringing one of his arms across her waist to hold her closely.

 

An instant later, they entered the courtyard and began advancing at an unhurried pace. Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had seen Ser Meryn’s body yet. It was almost inevitable of course but still, with the fire, would someone be sent after them so soon? She was petrified at the idea and held onto the Hound tightly, eager for some comfort.

 

“Going out, Hound?” a voice asked just as the man’s stallion halted.

 

“Aye. We’ve had fun all night and now the wench has nothing left in her and was begging for her bed when last she was conscious,” Sandor Clegane rasped in a voice so laid back that he might have just woken up from a full night of sleep.

 

“Oh, please. Be more merciful with your whores in the future,” the guard answered, snickering in a way that made it evident he didn’t mean a word he had said. Others were laughing with him also. “Go! We won’t detain you a moment longer. The poor sweetheart!”

 

Steadily, they went down the drawbridge at a maddeningly peaceful pace, still Sansa understood that it was for the best. When they reached the solid earth at last, Sandor Clegane didn’t hasten and continued just as slowly.

 

“Shouldn’t we hurry?” Sansa whispered, shifting uncomfortably.

 

“Not yet. When we have reached another street, I’ll go faster. We’re almost there though, little bird,” he answered, tightening his arm around her.

 

At that, Sansa snuggled into him, her need for safety too great for her to care anymore.

 

As Sandor Clegane had promised, they shortly turned and hastened, although not too much either.

 

“The port is only a few minutes away. No need to alert the whole neighbourhood,” he explained before Sansa had a chance to voice any complaint.

 

They had already alerted a lot of people though, before leaving the Red Keep. The castle must have been in pure frenzy at the moment, with the fire and the body of Ser Meryn lying lifeless on the floor, Sansa reflected, her heart skipping a beat as an idea suddenly struck her.

 

Wouldn’t the Hound be suspected if he came back after all that had happened? His clothes were bloodied, his arm cut and he had been seen leaving with her not only by a stable boy but by a few goldcloaks too… He couldn’t go back; he’d be _killed_!

 

“We’re there now,” Sandor Clegane announced.

 

Her train of thought interrupted, Sansa raised her head and looked around her. The quiet and narrow streets they had followed had now given way to the large space of the harbour and the place was already filled with animation and noise despite the early hour. Many vessels were docked but from the movement on its deck and surroundings, Sansa could easily guess which one was the _Travelling Titan_. The ship was very big and elegant, exactly as she had hoped.

 

“There’s your ship, little bird,” the Hound rasped as he jumped from the saddle and began leading his horse over to the docks.

 

Men were running all around them, most garbed in the traditional sailor striped tunic, some with golden earrings and all with skin so tanned it looked like leather. A few of them were busy unwinding the long ropes that kept the ship in place from steel poles and one of them – dressed more richly than the others - stopped in his work to stride toward Sansa and the Hound when he noticed them.

 

“Hello, m’lord. This is the young lady you told us about, I reckon. She’s just in time. We’re leaving in a few minutes,” he exclaimed in a voice that sounded rough from having shouted orders all night. Then turning to gaze at Sansa, he continued. “Hurry up and get on board, m’lady. The anchor is already up and the captain won’t wait for anyone.”

 

Seeing her nod, the sailor returned to his work, leaving her alone with Sandor Clegane once more.

 

“Heard the man, little bird?” he asked, laying his hands around her waist. “Time to go.”

 

Once she was out of the saddle, Sansa gazed at the Red Keep, hovering over the city and then at the Hound, her eyes grown wide with worry. “But what about you, my lord? You can’t return to the Red Keep after all that has happened!”

 

“I know that,” he said, snorting a short, dry laugh. “I never intended to go back either.”

 

At seeing her puzzled expression, Sandor Clegane’s mouth curved into a mocking half-grin and his head tilted to the side.

 

“You think I didn’t predict some bugger would see us and gather I was the one who helped you flee? It was written in the bloody sky, little bird. My safe return to the keep was doomed from the start.”

 

“But why did you say yes then?” Sansa asked, totally unsettled by his admission.

 

“You damned well know why, little bird,” the Hound rasped lowly while eating her with his gaze. A moment later though, he became serious again and glanced at the streets behind him. “I’ve packed my things in advance. I could still ride Stranger to a gate and save my hide… unless…” he trailed off, fixing his stare on Sansa again.

 

“Unless?” she breathed so softly that she was certain he had not heard her.

 

“I could go with you,” the man began, taking a step toward her. “There’s nothing safe about you embarking on this ship by yourself. It’ll be filled with a bunch of bloody sailors all yearning to get a taste of your sweet flesh. And afterwards, once you get to WhiteHarbour, who’s to say how the tide will have turned? Perhaps you’ll be surrounded by foes, even worse than here in King’s Landing. You need a protector, little bird, one with no political ties and that’ll do _anything_ you ask without a fucking question. I’m willing to be that to you.”

 

“Hurry up!” the sailor they had met earlier exclaimed from the deck, waving at Sansa to embark.

 

The girl nervously gazed his way but she was too stunned by the Hound’s words to think straight. Her lips were opened in a small ‘O’, her eyes wide with confusion.

 

Seizing her upper arm to grasp her total attention again, Sandor Clegane brought his face close to hers and continued. “Say yes, little bird, and I’ll cut to pieces anyone that bothers you. I’ll kill any beggar, soldier, lord, lady, or even _bloody_ _queen and_ _king_ that’ll stand between you and any of your goals. You won’t find anyone more devoted than me.” Snorting softly, he released her arm and narrowed his eyes on her. “I won’t lie and promise that I won’t try to get into your bed again but since you can be certain someone will claim the place, I’m not the worst bastard you could get. At least, you’ve known me already and you can be sure I’d never hurt you…”

 

The flow of promises the Hound had just poured over her was a little too much for Sansa to cogitate and she kept her stare glued to him for a moment after he had finished, completely overwhelmed. _He wants to serve me,_ she mused at last, butterflies filling her belly. Still, at the thought of the last implication, she felt a pang of annoyance. How could anyone be so forward, so coarse and ill-mannered, so impudent...? And yet, why wasn’t she more outraged by his proposition than she was?

 

A small smile pulling uncontrollably at her lips, Sansa sighed and took Sandor Clegane’s large hand in hers. Without a word, she led him up the ship’s gangplank and less than a quarter of an hour later, the _Travelling Titan_ had left King’s Landing’s to sail towards the great Northern city of White Harbour with an extra passenger on its deck.

 

 

THE END


End file.
